


we'll be back soon as we make history

by fireblazie



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Canon Compliant, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireblazie/pseuds/fireblazie
Summary: Somewhere down the line, Dong Bang Shin Ki disbands. Yunho and Changmin attempt to navigate their relationship in the aftermath.
Relationships: Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 135





	we'll be back soon as we make history

  
  
  
It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any more by giving myself away like this — But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defenses. And I don’t really resent it.

Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper._

Yunho can’t remember where he heard those words—Changmin, probably, it sounds like the sort of thing Changmin says when he's in one of his moods—but they seem appropriate. He sits up straighter in his chair, posture impeccable, staring Lee Sooman-seonsaengnim right in the eye as he announces their disbandment over cups of overly expensive and bitter coffee.

It’s been a long time coming. They still have their loyal, dedicated fans, and Yunho loves every single one of them as if they were his own flesh and blood. But they’re a shadow of what they once were. They did what all gods do, in the end—they rose, and then fell, from dizzying, great heights. The fall had just taken a lot longer than anticipated.

“You will always have a place here, of course,” he says, and Yunho idly wonders when he himself will step down completely and retire. “There are many things you can still continue to do behind the scenes, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Yunho inclines his head. “We’ll have to think about it,” he says automatically, and then freezes, watching Changmin out of the corner of his eye. Changmin stares straight ahead, unmoving, cut out of marble. He supposes they’re not a ‘we,’ not anymore. At least, not for much longer.

“Yes,” he says kindly, peering at them over horn-rimmed glasses. As if he's doing them a favor by being the one to break the news, rather than the latest young executive who probably hadn't even been born yet when the five of them debuted. “You do have time. After we make the announcement, you’ll have one last tour in Japan. That should give you plenty of time to decide on your future.” He leans back in his chair and smiles. Yunho tries not to focus on the traces of pity he sees in the man’s face. “Yunho, Changmin. Thank you for all you’ve done. You have been truly remarkable, and I assure you, your names will go down in history as the Rising Gods of the East.”

*

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, and Changmin pauses in the hallway, glancing at him. “Changmin-ah, talk to me.”

Changmin’s jaw is clenched. Yunho aches to smooth it out with the palm of his hand, but that’s a line he can’t let himself cross. “What’s there to talk about?” he spits out. “You just sat there and let him throw us away like a bottle of expired milk!”

Yunho flinches back, struck by the venom in his words. “I don’t—I don’t understand,” Yunho says, weakly. “I thought you wanted out.”

“What?” Changmin steps closer, and Yunho blinks up at him, ever aware of the two-centimeter height difference. “I don’t—I would _never—_ ”

“Bullshit,” Yunho snaps, suddenly furious, and is gratified by the widening of Changmin’s eyes and the involuntary step he takes back. “You haven’t talked to me outside of work in months. You don’t respond to my messages, and every time I try to reach out you run away.” He glares, and deliberately claps a large hand onto Changmin’s shoulder. Changmin rears back, wrenching his body away from Yunho’s grip. 

Yunho laughs, but it’s a hollow, bitter thing. “If you were going to end it this way, you really should’ve just quit from the start.”

Anger flashes across Changmin’s face. “How _dare—_ ” he seethes, but Yunho spins on his heels and walks away. Part of him wishes Changmin would run after him and throw the first punch so that they could fight and spit out the words that they’ve kept buried in the marrow of their bones for all these years. But Changmin doesn’t. Yunho isn’t surprised. Changmin’s done nothing but disappoint him, lately.

*

For reasons Yunho’s never bothered to investigate too closely, they still share an apartment in Japan, and it’s to this apartment that they return so they can prepare for their final Japan tour. Changmin stays in his room, only venturing out to cook a simple meal or to go out to eat. Sometimes, he leaves leftovers out for Yunho, but Yunho always leaves them untouched. Eventually, Changmin stops trying.

They’re holding a press conference in the afternoon to announce their impending retirement from the stage. Yunho’s sorely tempted to simply shove a microphone in Changmin’s face and make him explain the whole thing, public image be damned. That’d be a way to go out with a bang instead of a fucking whimper.

But, no. Yunho behaves, explains their decision to the room full of reporters and cameras and flashing lights like he’s been trained to do. Expresses his sincere gratitude to the fans for their loyalty all these years. Says that no, they’re not quite sure what else is in store for them, but there won’t be any more dome tours in the near future.

(There haven’t been many dome tours for a while.)

At the end of it, he gestures, curtly, for Changmin to speak. After a brief pause, he does.

“These years have been incredible,” he says, slowly, in the way that he does when he’s thinking carefully about every word he wants to say. It’s a trait Yunho’s often admired in him, seeing as he’s the exact opposite, often barreling on and hopefully stringing together a coherent sentence somewhere along the way. “Indescribable, even. I know we say this all the time. That every idol group says this all the time. But we wouldn’t have made it this far without the fans. You’ve kept us going this long, and it’s more than anything I ever imagined, back when I was fifteen and bright-eyed and completely clueless about this industry.” He laughs. “So, thank you. The words feel inadequate, not at all enough for what we want to convey. But, nevertheless: thank you. So very, very, much.” He executes a perfect, ninety-degree bow, and Yunho follows suit.

When Yunho straightens, he meets Changmin’s eyes. He offers him a smile, small and barely there. After a beat, Changmin returns it.

*

A month flies by. The audience is smaller nowadays, but Yunho still performs like he’s at Nissan Stadium every single time, seventy-five-thousand fans waving their red penlights and screaming along to their songs in the pouring rain. Beside him, Changmin does the same, scanning the audience with a piercing, intent gaze, as though trying to commit every face to memory.

“This is our last concert as Tohoshinki,” Yunho had said during the opening ment, pausing as the audience wailed in dismay, “I love you all so much. Please—enjoy this with us!”

And they had. God, they had. Years and years from now, Yunho will still look back on this as one of his fondest memories of being Tohoshinki: the sheer energy coming from the audience, the perfectly executed choreography from their dancers, the thrum of the music coming from their band. It’s the sort of performance you can only put on when you know it’s your last.

“Bigeast, this is the last song,” Yunho shouts into the mic, voice thick with suppressed emotion, and Changmin stands next to him, a quiet but solid presence, the way he’s always done. “I want to hear all of you sing! Let’s go!”

The fans don’t disappoint. They never have. As the song pours over them, the fans sing along to every single word. On stage, the dancers do too, throwing their arms around each other, singing loudly and off-key. Yunho runs up and down the stage like a madman, determined to leave the stage with no regrets.

The song ends, as all songs do. Yunho stares out at the audience, desperate to remember every single detail. Blindly, he reaches out beside him, searching, and Changmin finds him unerringly and grasps his hand in his own. Yunho gulps big, heaving gasps of air as the tears stream down his cheeks. He squeezes Changmin’s hand fiercely, claiming him as an anchor in the storm. Changmin squeezes back, eyes wet.

And so, Tohoshinki says goodbye.

*

“What will you do now?” Yunho asks Changmin that night as they’re nursing a couple of beers in their dimly lit kitchen. It’s a strange feeling, this, not unlike hanging in limbo.

(Not unlike 2010, not knowing if there would still be a Dong Bang Shin Ki, not knowing if there would ever be a chance to be on stage again.)

“Travel,” Changmin says, after a pause.

“Yeah?” Yunho says. There’s still a lingering awkwardness between the two of them, and Yunho hates it, but doesn’t know how to fix it, and is it even worth trying anymore, now that they’re over? “Where to?”

Changmin hums, noncommittally. “Not sure,” he admits. “Haven’t planned that far yet.”

“Oh,” Yunho says. “Have fun, then. Send me a postcard, if you remember.” The words taste thick and uncomfortable on his tongue, and when did things get so difficult with Changmin, of all people, when it used to be so easy? He shakes himself out of it. “Changmin-ah, I just. I just. I don’t know. I wish it didn’t have to end, but.”

Changmin cuts him off. “All things have to end, Hyung.” He shrugs. “Dong Bang Shin Ki included. At least we got to say goodbye.”

Yunho pauses, the words stuck in his throat. He stares down at his nearly empty beer can. “I know,” he says, at last. “I know we would have had to end, someday. Some people still think we should have ended in 2010.” Changmin’s eyes flash at that, and Yunho offers him a pacifying smile. “It just—it doesn’t feel right. That’s all.”

“Goodbyes never do,” Changmin says sagely, throwing back the last of his beer. He stands up, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the tiled kitchen floor. “I’m going to shower and turn in. Early flight tomorrow, remember?”

“Right.” Yunho forces a grin. Changmin’s flying back to Seoul a day earlier for—Yunho doesn’t even know. Just knows that he’ll be in this too-large apartment by himself for one extra day. He’d done it to himself, claiming to want one more day before going back home. Back to Gwangju, first, to visit his family, and then. And then.

“I’ll be up pretty early,” Changmin is saying as he washes his hands in the sink. Yunho watches him lather his knuckles up with soap and then rinse beneath the tap. “I won’t bother waking you, so I’ll just see you around, I guess?”

Before he fully registers what he’s doing, Yunho’s slipped behind Changmin and rested his head in between his shoulder blades. Even after all these years, he still uses the same laundry soap. Yunho wants to breathe him in forever. Changmin stiffens beneath him.

“Hyung,” he says.

“Please,” Yunho says, voice hoarse. “Just—for a second.”

Changmin sighs. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, okay.”

*

When Yunho wakes up in the morning, Changmin is gone, leaving behind only a yellow sticky-note taped to their fridge.

_Thanks for everything.  
I'll see you when I get back._

Yunho slips it into his pajama pocket and goes to brush his teeth.

*

(Yunho won’t see him for six months.)

*

Yunho sits on the well-worn couch of their family home, watching his mother wash the dishes. She’s gotten so much older, he thinks, but then again, they all have. Even Eunchae and her brother are now old enough to shy away from his overly exuberant hugs and kisses, much to his dismay and Jihye’s amusement. 

“They still love you, Oppa,” Jihye says when he turns his kicked puppy face to her. “Stop that, you know that doesn’t work on me.”

Yunho doesn’t stop pouting. “They used to love my hugs,” he says, miserably.

“They still love you,” Jihye repeats. “They’ve just outgrown you a bit, that’s all.”

Yunho barks out a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Them and the rest of the world.”

Jihye sighs and settles down next to him on the couch. “Most people would be happy to retire the way you did,” she says. “You had an amazing career. You left your mark, you know you did. You are to K-pop what—I don’t know, Michael Jackson and The Beatles and Madonna were to the Western world. You could still be on TV if you wanted. You’re retired from the stage, not dead. Maybe do a radio show, or a variety show. _Some_ people seem to find you funny.”

“Ha, ha,” Yunho says dryly. “No, I know. I’m grateful, of course I am.” He sags against the cushions, staring at the peeling paint of their ceiling. “It’s just that I don’t know—” He heaves a sigh and scrubs at his face with his palms. “I don’t know what else I can be if I’m not U-Know Yunho.” 

When he looks up, Jihye is frowning at him. Behind her, his mother is frowning at him as well. Their frowns are nearly identical, and Yunho would laugh if he weren’t so depressed about it. 

“That’s silly,” Jihye says. “You’re—you’re my oppa. You’re Eunchae’s samchon. You’re Changmin’s—”

Yunho holds a breath.

“—brother,” Jihye finishes. “The two of you are practically family, and you don’t need to be in a _group_ to prove it.” She blinks. “Oh my god, is that what this is about?”

“I thought the five of us were family, once,” Yunho mumbles, and Jihye thwacks him soundly in the arm for it. Yunho yelps and moves away.

“ _Ouch,_ damn it,” he hisses.

“If you’re comparing him to the three of them, I’ll punch you again,” Jihye threatens, and their mother clears her throat behind them.

“Yunho-yah,” she says, lifting a hand to ruffle through his hair. Yunho leans into it. “Take your time and rest. God knows you need it. But later, when you’re ready, talk to him. Promise me.”

“Promise,” Yunho mutters, and stubbornly resists the urge to cross his fingers behind his back.

*

**changmin88**  
Singapore

_[A photo of a merlion]_

  
  


**20,091 likes**  
**changmin88** Enjoying the view and the chicken rice!  
View all 1,210 comments  
6 hours ago

*

The truth is. _The truth is._

Maybe, five years ago, after a grueling rehearsal that had left Yunho more winded than he’d cared to admit, pain flaring in his ankle, in his knee, in his hip, in his _everywhere,_ Yunho had retreated to the living room with a slump in his shoulders and an ice pack pressed to his knee. Maybe he’d turned the TV on and pulled up old music videos, videos of "Rising Sun" and "Mirotic" and "Catch Me" and "The Chance of Love" and wondered why it was getting so much harder to follow the choreography without slipping up these days. 

Maybe he’d pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts and pressed a thumb to that one, constant name that had been there for him all these years. Maybe he’d prayed and wished and hoped that no one would pick up on the other line. Maybe he’d prayed and wished and hoped that he would.

Maybe he’d said, “I don’t know, I don’t know anymore, I don’t think I can anymore,” and maybe that had frightened Changmin just enough to speed to his apartment in five minutes flat.

Maybe Yunho had looked up at him, lost and confused, and said, “I don’t know what will be left of me when I can’t dance anymore,” with an ice pack that had long lost its chill.

And maybe Changmin had knelt beside him, taken his face gingerly in his palms and said, “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

And maybe Yunho had just been tired enough, lonely enough, just— _enough_ that he’d surged upwards and mashed their lips together in a pathetic, desperate farce of a kiss, reveling in the sharp inhale Changmin had taken through his nostrils, the feel of his warm skin beneath his fingers, and the taste of his mint mouthwash on his tongue. And maybe Changmin had pushed him away, gently, and said, “No. Yunho-hyung, no. Not like this.” And maybe he’d—no—he _had_ walked away. Just like the rest of them.

The truth is:

Yunho would have taken any scraps of affection from Changmin at that point, would have feasted on it like a half-starved dog with a chewed-up bone. But Changmin wanted more than one night, had always wanted more (had always deserved more), and Yunho had never been ready to give it to him. Dong Bang Shin Ki first and foremost, always and forever; everything else, second.

When you take away the fancy make-up and costumes and lights—what’s left? 

When you leave your life, your heart, your soul on the stage—what remains?

*

**changmin88**  
Hong Kong

_[A photo of an assortment of dim sum in bamboo steamers]_

  
  


**99,174 likes**  
**changmin88** You can’t beat Hong Kong when it comes to dim sum  
View all 754 comments  
2 hours ago

*

Yunho first learns of the letters two months after they disband.

Their last manager from Japan calls him, apologetic. “Listen,” he says, “I have something for you. They’re, uh, letters? From Changmin. He left them with me, told me to send them to you after you’d been back for a couple of months. They seem important, I don’t know. It just felt like I should ask you before I sent them.” He pauses. “What do you think?”

Yunho says, “I’ll take them.”

As if there were any other option.

*

“I really don’t get it,” Heechul-hyung says, watching Yunho flip pieces of pork belly on the grill in between them. “So you disbanded. You’re still _friends._ That hasn’t changed. Sungminnie and I kept in contact all of these years. Hell, Jaejoongie and I did too.” He side-eyes him. “You knew that.”

Yunho doesn’t respond, doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know how to explain that for the longest time, the only thing that had kept him and Changmin together was the idea of Dong Bang Shin Ki, the rehearsals and the recording sessions, the concerts and the fan meetings and the variety shows. The determination to prove to everyone that they _could_ still do it, that the two of them were still enough to fill that stage. Doesn’t know how to explain that now that that’s all over, he doesn’t know if there’s anything left between the two of them.

“I mean,” Heechul-hyung is saying, “it’s not like you were glued to each other’s sides twenty-four-seven? It infamously took you, what, five fucking years to actually go to each other’s houses? _Allegedly._ ” He side-eyes him once more, but Yunho is silent. “So now he’s off gallivanting across the world, woohoo, good for him, what’s changed? He used to go drinking all over the damn country with Kyuhyunnie, but he always came back—”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it!” Yunho explodes, throwing the tongs on the table. “I don’t know if he’s going to come back this time! Now that there’s nothing to come back _to!_ ”

Heechul-hyung blinks at him. “Yurobbong—”

Yunho deflates. “I don’t know if he’s going to come back,” he says again. “It’s stupid—”

“I’m glad you know it,” Heechul-hyung tells him, fixing him with a pointed glare. Yunho frowns at him, and Heechul reaches across the table to poke him squarely in the forehead. “Listen to me, you idiot, if you really think Changminnie’s not going to come back after his little vacation, you’re dumber than I thought. He just needs some time. You’ve always known that about your maknae. Your relationship with him is old enough to have children and a career of its own, for God’s sake.” 

Yunho bites his lip. “I don’t know. I just—I don’t. Know.”

Heechul-hyung sighs. “Changminnie’s always known you were a slow one,” he says fondly. “Some might say it’s part of your charm.”

Yunho raises his head to glare. “Hyung.”

Heechul-hyung tosses his hair back. “Enough moping.” He hands him the tongs, effectively halting the conversation. “Come on, now. This meat’s not going to grill itself.” 

When Yunho only continues to stare morosely at the grill, Heechul-hyung rolls his eyes and starts grilling the meat himself. “You’re a real fucking handful, Yurobbong.” 

Yunho laughs dryly. “Yeah,” he says. “Changminnie used to say that to me too.”

*

Yunho’s always had a grand imagination, so somewhere in his mind he’d pictured a great, ancient treasure chest with faded scrolls of parchment. What he gets in reality is something far less impressive: a large manila envelope that contains a handful of smaller envelopes, exactly seven of them, all neatly labeled with Yunho’s name. Faced with the evidence, Yunho can no longer lie to himself: Changmin had always meant to leave, and had written these letters as a way to say goodbye.

It’s probably why he can’t bring himself to read them. Opening each envelope up, reading each letter—it’s too much like acknowledging the goodbye. Maybe he’s prolonging the inevitable. Maybe he’s just an idiot.

So he shoves them in the back of his closet and tries to forget all about them. In actuality, it’s not all that hard to do so. He’s gone back to work and fallen right into the thick of SM administration, helping Boa out with training the new recruits; he still has a sharp eye for choreography and mismatched steps even if his knees aren’t what they once were, and the trainees stare up at him with stars in their eyes and reverence in their deep, ninety-degree bows when he offers up his words of wisdom.

Maybe this is what he’s meant for, now that U-Know Yunho’s hung up his stage costumes.

Still, it catches up to him when he least expects it. Out of the corner of his eye, a tall and gangly trainee stumbles after a particularly tricky step combination, and all Yunho can think about is when Changmin kept fucking up the steps to "Maximum" until Yunho had lost it. Later, SM’s newest boy group will order in jjajangmyeon and Yunho will watch them and remember saving up coins in his plastic water bottles so that he could order a single, precious bowl for himself, only to end up sharing half of it with the maknae of their group.

“I miss it,” Yunho tells Boa in her office.

“Which part of it?” Boa asks, taking a sip of iced water. “The crazy, hectic tours? Sleeping for two hours a night in the van as you’re carted off from schedule to schedule?”

Yunho thinks of the crazy, hectic tours, the rehearsals until three in the morning, repeating a series of steps and turns and kicks until they were absolutely perfect. Thinks of sleeping in the van, dozing off in full make-up as their manager sped down the highway, eyelids fluttering open as warm hands clutched at his shoulder and a voice said, _“Hyung, it’s time, let’s go.”_

But Yunho says none of that. “All of it,” he says instead. “I just miss all of it.”

*

**changmin88**  
Philippines

_[A photo of a basket of strawberries]_

  
  


**500,124 likes**  
**changmin88** Went strawberry-picking today… it was hot, muddy, and dirty. Next time, just go to the grocery store!  
View all 2,788 comments  
**gyuram88** Or you could come back to Seoul, where we have the fairest strawberry of them all  
2 hours ago

*

Eventually, Yunho reads the letters. They’re not dated, so he reads them at random, pulling them from the envelope like some twisted game of chance. Some of the papers are more faded and yellow than the others, but they all feature the same, neat handwriting. They’re not long letters, either, only a few paragraphs at the most, mostly scribbled on the free notepads they used to take from hotels. All in all, it only takes him about fifteen minutes to get through them all.

When he finishes, he puts them back in their respective envelopes, slowly and methodically. Then he stuffs them all back inside the large, manila envelope they’d been sent in from Japan. Instead of his closet, he pads to his study and places them on his desk, next to the albums and awards and accolades. Then he goes to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, rinses his face, and changes for bed. 

He slips in beneath the covers and lies awake for the rest of the night.

*

_You asked me once, do you remember, why I didn’t leave with them? Because I’m a goddamn fool, is why. I couldn’t leave you then. I couldn’t leave you now. You’re it for me, Hyung. Even after the red ocean fades (and don’t look at me like that, you know it will, eventually) and we stop selling out dome tours and we become nothing more than a name that people say with fond nostalgia before moving onto the next big thing—_

_It’ll still be you. Only you._

*

Yunho opens up KakaoTalk and presses a little too hard on Changmin’s name. Their conversation thread pops up, the last message dated over a month ago. He stares at the cursor blankly. It blinks mockingly at him. 

He begins a dozen different messages, at least, but none of them are adequate. He’s never been the writer. That was always Changmin’s forte, not his.

In the end, he gives up, closes the app, and gets ready for another day at work.

*

_Talk to him,_ his mother had said, and so he does, in the end. 

He finds Changmin’s name under his contacts and hits call, not entirely knowing what to expect. He might not pick up. Not to mention the international charges the call would incur. And even if he does pick up—well. He bites his lip. Maybe he should hang up?

It rings for a while, and then goes to voicemail. Yunho opens his mouth—then closes it, and then opens it again.

_Beep._

“I, uh. I got your letters,” he says. He clears his throat. “Just wanted to let you know.”

He’s not sure how long he remains on the line, phone pressed to his ear, staring at his wooden floors. Finally, he says, “I hope you’re having fun on your trip,” and hangs up.

*

  
_Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to just be a normal kid. None of this idol business, but just—normal._

_I don’t know what I would have been. Was always good at studying, maybe I would’ve followed in my parents’ footsteps and gone into teaching. Maybe I would’ve gone into cooking. Do you remember those old interviews they made us do, where they’d ask us if we’d do this all over again in the next life? I always said no. It seems stupid, I guess, to think about how things could’ve gone when, well. They obviously didn’t._

_I think you always would have made it, though. You burn too brightly for it to have gone otherwise. Maybe the four of you would have debuted without me. Or maybe Four Seasons would have succeeded, and you would have been the perfect model maknae, I’m sure. And I would’ve listened to you on the radio, or maybe seen you make an ass of yourself on variety shows, and I would’ve met a nice girl somewhere, settled down, had children—_

_Never mind. Neither of us were meant for ordinary lives like that._

_*_

Yunho’s lounging on his couch one night when he absently reaches down to scratch at his outer thigh and winds up fishing out a crumpled sticky note from one of the pockets of his pajama pants.

It’s beyond saving, really, but he does his best to gingerly straighten the corners of the note flat. _‘Thanks for everything’_ is all that’s left, the second line nothing but a smear of dark blue ink, but Yunho remembers the note Changmin had stuck onto their fridge in Japan, and he aches with how much he suddenly misses him.

He reaches for his phone on the coffee table and finds Changmin’s name in his contacts list. After a moment’s hesitation, he hits call. 

He doesn’t know if Changmin will pick up, if he can even access his voicemail internationally, but now that he’s started it’s hard to stop.

This time, it goes straight to voicemail.

_Beep._

“I think,” he begins, haltingly, “that you would be a great dad.”

Pause.

“Maybe we aren’t meant for ordinary lives like what you said. The nine-to-five, weekends and holidays off, dropping kids off at daycare and watching taekwondo matches in the evenings after work. But the part that you wrote about later, the—the part about, uh, meeting a nice girl and settling down and having kids—well, I think that would be good. That you would be good. If you wanted? You’d be patient and kind, but you wouldn’t put up with any of their bullshit, either. Just like you did with me. Do you even want kids, Changdol-ah?” He chokes out a laugh. “Better get a start on that, then. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

He stares down at his feet, phone still pressed to his ear. 

“I miss you,” he says abruptly, and ends the call.

*

On a weekend trip back home to Gwangju, Jihye presents him with a plant.

“Um,” Yunho says.

“This is a plant,” Jihye says, succinctly.

“Yes, thank you, I see that,” Yunho says, rolling his eyes. “Did somebody lose it? Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you won’t be so lonely,” Jihye says, crossing her arms over her chest. Unconsciously, Yunho mimics the gesture, eyeing the potted plant with more than just a little trepidation. “Besides, it’s from Eunchae. Half of it, anyway, she pitched in. Are you going to reject your niece’s gift?”

Jihye’s always known where to hit him so it hurts the most, Yunho thinks. He inspects the plant, a small-ish tree that reaches his knees. It’s got an interesting braided trunk and bright green leaves. It’s pretty enough, Yunho admits, though it looks awfully droopy. “Tell her thanks,” he says, kneeling down and poking at one of the leaves. It snaps off from its branch, fluttering sadly down to the floor. “Also, I’m not lonely.”

“Tell her yourself,” Jihye says, blithely ignoring his second comment. The sound of a door opening signals Eunchae’s emergence from the bathroom, freshly showered and toweling her hair dry. 

“Oh,” Eunchae says, gaze going from the plant to Yunho and back again. “Do you like it?”

“Of course,” Yunho says, plastering enthusiasm into his voice. “Do you want to tell me more about it? I don’t know much about plants.”

She tilts her head at him, considering. “The ahjumma at the store said it’s called a ficus. But it’s also known as a weeping fig. It’s really versatile, can grow indoors or outdoors. But for indoor purposes, it can grow up to, like, ten feet I think? So you’ve got to prune it and stuff. It doesn’t need a whole lot of water, either. But it does need a good amount of light. And she also said that it’s kind of a drama queen and sheds leaves and stuff if it gets stressed out.”

The image startles Yunho into laughter. “A drama queen, huh?” he muses.

“But when you get past all of that, it’s really pretty,” Eunchae says hurriedly. “I’ve seen pictures online.” She fidgets, biting her lip. “Do you—do you like it, samchon?”

Yunho smiles at her and at the plant, at its droopiness and all. “I love it,” he says. “I’ll do my best to take care of it so that it grows well.”

Eunchae lights up. “Will you send me pictures?”

Yunho reaches out and pats her hair, still damp from the shower. “Yeah,” he says. “I can do that.”

*

_This is the first night I’ve spent in my new apartment and it’s amazing, Yunho-hyung, it’s quiet and I don’t wake up at ass o’clock in the morning to the sound of you practicing your choreography in the living room. I don’t have to go hunting down the toothpaste. And when I do grab the toothpaste it’s exactly where it’s supposed to be and it hasn’t been all squeezed up in the middle. It’s great! Fantastic!_

_We should have done this years ago. Why did we wait so long?_

_I don’t miss the way you would eat my food even when I explicitly labeled it with my name. I definitely don’t miss the way you sing in the shower at the top of your lungs. I don’t miss the way you leave your wet towels on the bathroom floor. I don’t miss the way you rush back into the apartment with your shoes on to grab your phone. I don’t miss the way you smile at me in the morning before I’ve even had my first cup of coffee. I don’t miss the way you used to eat everything I cooked with the dumbest smile on your face, saying, “Changminnie is such a good cook and I’m so lucky to get to eat his food!”_

_I don’t. Not any of that. Not at all._

_*_

Eventually, Yunho relearns himself and develops a new schedule.

7 A.M.: His alarm goes off. Changmin’s voice sings the introductory notes of "Truth." It’s the first thing he hears when he wakes up every morning.

7:15 A.M.: He rolls out of bed (or, more than likely, the couch; he’s never quite managed to kick that habit) and stumbles into the bathroom.

7:30 A.M.: He wolfs down some breakfast, typically a cup of tea and some leftover rice and soup that’s always just a little too salty. He halfheartedly keeps an eye on the television as he does so, allowing the monotonous voice of the early morning news to wash over him as he chews and swallows, and then he stands and rinses his dishes in the sink.

7:40 A.M.: He checks on his tree, makes sure it’s still good. Cleans up a few of the leaves it’s shed (Eunchae really wasn’t kidding about that), and waters it if it’s looking a little dry.

8:00 A.M.: After a quick shower, he gets dressed, sticking his still damp hair underneath a baseball cap. He tosses any leftover coins into his piggy banks, then leaves the house and gets into his car. He sits in the driver’s seat and stares at the near-empty car park, where all of his neighbors have left and gone to work. 

8:05 A.M.: He turns on the car and drives to SM.

9:00 A.M.: He settles into his office, because isn’t that hilarious, he actually has an office now. Not quite as spacious as Boa’s or Kangta-hyung’s, but it’s his own personal and professional space nevertheless. He checks his emails, checks his schedule, and comes up with a game plan for the remainder of the day.

10:00 A.M.: He ventures down to the practice studios. When he thinks about it, he’s spent more time there than he has with his own family. He’s been placed in charge (unofficially) of their latest boy group, eight members with the same drive he’d had when he’d come up to Seoul from Gwangju all those years ago. He goes over the latest choreography with them, correcting their missteps and fumbles with a firm but gentle hand.

12:00 P.M.: He has lunch with whoever’s available, usually Boa, sometimes one of the Suju members or the EXO or NCT kids, even though they’re not really kids anymore. They laugh and reminisce over the old days, talk about the future of their industry, and clap each other on the shoulders before heading off to finish the second half of the work day.

1:00 P.M.: He goes over some of the offers he’s received—a variety show with Hodong-hyung, a variety show with Jaesuk-hyung, a guest appearance on a radio show with Shinyoung-noona. He says yes to all of them.

1:30 P.M.: He returns to the practice studios, this time with a group of trainees all still eager to prove themselves. He entertains, briefly, the thought of playing the music video to ‘Follow’ and asking them how the video made them feel—but he knows Boa and, even worse, Heechul-hyung would never let him live it down. So he watches them all with a sharp, critical eye and calls out orders and things that need to be corrected. He misses nothing.

3:30 P.M.: Hyukjae usually sneaks in and settles down next to him and does the same.

5:00 P.M.: The trainees bow, exhausted and sweaty, and Yunho pats each and every one of them on the back as they file out of the studio. Hyukjae raises an eyebrow at him, says, “Glad we’re done with all of that,” and Yunho laughs.

6:00 P.M.: Yunho grabs dinner with whoever he can and soaks up the feeling of good food, good drinks and good people. It’s not hard to do—and yet.

9:00 P.M.: Yunho returns home to a dark and empty apartment. He brushes his teeth, takes a shower, and slips into well-worn pajama pants. 

9:30 P.M.: He parks himself in front of the television and watches old music videos. Watches the two of them sing and dance in perfectly coordinated outfits, two halves of a puzzle, two sides of a coin. 

10:00 P.M.: He falls asleep on the couch and wakes up cold and tired. And does it all again.

*

**yunho2154**  


_[A photo of a potted plant: his weeping fig, next to his living room window, half in sunlight and half in shadow]_

  
  


**78,293 likes**  
**yunho2154** Look what my Eunchae got me!!  
View all 199 comments  
3 hours ago

*

Yunho hasn’t worn his bracelet in nearly two years.

Changmin had always worn his the most, and the sight of the thick chain links encircling Changmin’s wrist had never failed to leave warmth curling in his belly, soft and pleased. They’d come to an unspoken agreement to never wear them at the same time, and Yunho had never really minded, content to see Changmin wear his, but now. But now.

There’s a fine layer of dust on top of the orange Hermès box, and Yunho wipes it away impatiently with his sleeve. He lifts the lid. Nestled against dark velvet, his bracelet gleams, bright and polished silver. He inspects it beneath the light—a few tarnished spots here and there, but he can take care of that later. 

He slips it around his left wrist and stretches his fingers out a couple of times. It’s a little heavier than he remembered, but he likes the weight of it, what it reminds him of.

He wonders if Changmin still wears his. All of his SNS posts have focused on food or scenery, so he has nothing to go on. He steps away from his dresser and falls back into his bed, staring glumly at his ceiling.

Changmin hadn’t worn it very often, towards the end.

Yunho wonders if he’d even brought it with him.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes with a text. He pulls it out and squints at the message from Boa.

Want to meet up for lunch?

Sure, he types back, and slips his phone back into his pocket. He sits up and eyes the oversized white hoodie he’d slung over the back of his chair a couple of afternoons ago. 

After a second’s pause, he throws it on and tugs the sleeves down to cover his wrists. He’s not in the mood for any of Boa’s questions today.

*

**changmin88**  
India

_[A photo of a bowl of curry]_

  
  


**10,188 likes**  
**changmin88** This was almost too spicy for me... almost  
View all 972 comments  
3 hours ago

*

“Have you talked to Changmin at all since he left?” Hojun-hyung asks him over a cup of iced Americano, swirling the ice in the bottom of his plastic cup as he sips on the bright green straw. “It’s been—what, four? Almost five months now?”

“Sort of,” Yunho mutters into his own iced Americano. When he looks up, Hojun-hyung is frowning at him.

“What do you mean, ‘sort of,’” he says, making air-quotes around the last two words. “Either you did, or you didn’t.” He sets his drink down on the table and sighs. “Are you two being stupid again?”

Sometimes, Yunho wonders if his conversations with Hojun-hyung are a tamer version of Changmin’s conversations with Kyuhyun. “We’ve never been stupid, what are you saying,” he says, weakly.

“I have entire catalogue of your escapades with Shim Changmin dating back from 2009,” Hojun-hyung says, and, okay, Yunho doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

“He was being stupid first,” Yunho says instead, which isn’t entirely fair, and also isn’t entirely true. 

Hojun-hyung stares at him, unimpressed. “You two have always been stupid over each other,” he says, “I just figured that, you know, once you’d hit _forty—_ ”

“I’m working on it,” Yunho says, tiredly. “I messed up, I know, and I’m trying. I’m trying my best, I just. Give me some time.”

Hojun-hyung regards him silently. “Do you know, sometimes you think too much?”

Yunho is startled into a laugh. “Hyung, that is something I literally have never been accused of.”

Hojun-hyung rolls his eyes. “Yunho-yah. You can be a little naïve. You can be gullible. You see things through rose-colored glasses. But you’re not stupid. And you’re not a coward.” 

“Hyung,” Yunho says.

“That’s a nice bracelet,” Hojun-hyung says lightly, and it takes every ounce of courage in Yunho’s bones to not shove his sleeve down to cover it.

“Hyung,” he says again. 

But Hojun-hyung leans across the table, undeterred. “When are you gonna tell Changmin you’re in love with him?”

*

_Don’t get all sentimental, okay? It’s not like we’re in some unhealthy codependent relationship, no matter what some fans may say._

_The stage is too big. It’s always been too big, even when there were five of us. And like the rest of the world, I wasn’t sure the two of us would be enough for it, at first. You always believed, though. Or maybe you didn’t, and just put up a damn good front for the both of us. Wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. But we did it, we proved them wrong, and I know you’ll roll your eyes at this but fuck them for ever doubting us. Anyway, I gave the solo stage a couple of tries, and don’t you say a damn word about the clothes or the ring, I’ve heard enough from Kyuhyun, but it got too, I don’t know. Lonely. Maybe._

_Here’s the thing: this was always more your dream than mine. And to stand there on that stage, without you? Well, it feels almost like stealing._

_So it’s not like I miss you or anything, or that I can’t do it without you. I can, I just don’t want to. Besides, they’ve had us for more than ten years. The stage can wait. For both of us._

_Two years. See? Not that long at all._

_*_

“When are you gonna tell Changmin that you’re in love with him?” 

And Yunho—laughs. 

“He knows,” he says, the words bitter and threatening to choke him on the way up. “He knows.” He shakes his head even as Hojun-hyung stares at him in disbelief. “He does. That’s not the problem.”

*

The truth is:

Maybe, six or seven years ago, Yunho and Changmin had been having a quiet dinner in their apartment in Japan. Maybe they’d just flown in from Seoul, and Changmin had been too tired to cook, and so their manager had brought take-out containers filled with curry and rice into their kitchen before leaving them and telling them to get some much-needed rest.

And maybe Yunho had spilled some curry on himself—on a white shirt, no less, and he’d been biting back some vicious curses because he _liked_ this shirt, damn it—and Changmin had been watching him with unconcealed fondness before blurting out, easy as breathing, “God, I love you.”

Maybe Yunho had frozen, and Changmin had turned red, from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears, but had remained in his seat, unmoving, a statue cut out of marble. 

Maybe Changmin had said, firmly, “I won’t take it back. I might’ve, some years ago, but not anymore.”

And maybe Yunho had sat there, waiting to feel—something. Waiting to feel shocked, waiting to feel disbelief—but instead, none of that had come, because how can you feel surprised about something you’ve known for years?

So maybe he’d looked at the tension in Changmin’s shoulders, yearning to smooth them out, and said, “I love you too,” a little helplessly. “You know I do. But—” 

“But it’s not enough,” Changmin had cut in, a cynical smile curving his lips. “No. No, it wouldn’t be.”

And maybe Yunho had stood up and reached out to him, only for Changmin to push him away with a shake of his head. Maybe he’d said, “I’m tired, I’m going to go to sleep,” and left Yunho there surrounded by half-empty take-out containers and wearing a curry-stained shirt.

The truth is:

Yunho’s loved Changmin for years, before he even knew what love meant. He loved him even when he hated him, during those first tenuous years as a duo. But their name, their _reputation—_ everything they’d built up as Dong Bang Shin Ki had always come first, had always been most important. He’d nearly been killed for it, had literally nearly died for it, and still he’d regretted nothing. 

Until—

_Until—_

*

_Beep._

“The new trainees put on a surprise for me today,” Yunho says into the phone, still buzzing with the excitement of their performance. “I think Boa probably put them up to it, but it’s just—it’s so humbling to see these teenage kids look up to us the way we looked up to our idols back then.

“They performed ‘Mirotic,’” Yunho continues, “you know that’s what they always like to perform, anyway, when they do those tribute performances to us. And they were so good, Changmin-ah, they danced so well and they sang so well, and then they got to your high note, you know, your killer note?” He smiles, a little sadly. “Well. It was a good effort. No one can hit that note like you can. Even though so many keep on trying.”

He stands up from his leather chair and allows his eyes to wander across the shelves of his study. They land on a picture of them from SMTown in 2010. “Do you remember our first performance as a duo? I was so nervous I thought I’d be sick backstage. Even you—I’d never seen you so pale before a performance. But we pulled it off. I knew we would.”

He stops.

“No,” he says, quiet. “I—that’s a lie. I didn’t know if we would be able to do it. What did they used to say about us? ‘The one who can dance, but can’t sing. The one who can sing, but can’t dance.’ Right?”

He falls back into his chair, suddenly exhausted. “I’ve been following your SNS posts,” he says then. “The food looks great. It looks like you’re having—like you’re having a really great time.”

His eyes land on the fig tree, still droopy and a bearing a few leaves less than when he’d originally received it in Gwangju. “Dunno if you saw, but I got a tree? It was from Eunchae. It’s kinda fun. I, um. I don’t really know what I’m doing with it, but it’s not dead yet, so I must be doing something right, right?”

He laughs weakly as a picture on his shelf catches his attention. He’s probably one of the few people who still insists on framing pictures and putting them up in his house. It’s a candid shot, taken by one of their photographers at their last concert in Japan. It features the two of them, clutching each other’s hands tightly, jaws clenched, thanking the audience for all of the years they had the privilege to spend together. When Yunho closes his eyes, he can still hear the deafening roar of the audience, the heat of the stage lights, and the feel of Changmin’s slightly smaller, sweaty hand clasped in his.

“When you come back,” Yunho begins, voice catching, “when—whenever that is, let’s go get something to eat. Anything you want, okay? My treat.” He exhales sharply. “So just— _come back._ ”

*

_In the morning, things will be better. That’s what my mother always said when I’d come home angry from school. I’d come home angry over stupid things, like a bad grade on an exam, or when my friends were being assholes, or. I don’t know. Stupid things._

_This, though? It doesn’t feel stupid. I don’t know if things will be better in the morning. All I know is that the three of them just up and left. Like we weren’t important. Like we didn’t matter at all. Like we didn’t spend years training together, fighting together, surviving together._

_And I need you. I know it’s stupid, okay? This is, all of it, it’s a shit situation and that’s putting it nicely. But I need you. To be the leader. To be Yunho-hyung. But all I know is, you’ve been out drinking every fucking night and coming home completely wasted and it’s all because they left. And I’m the only one who stayed, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything to you. Because I’m not good enough._

_Maybe I should have gone with them._

_*_

**changmin88**  
Vietnam

_[A photo of a bowl of phở]_

  
  


**6,322 likes**  
**changmin88** Yum!  
View all 1,837 comments  
**gyuram88** Are you eating your way around the world like it's 2019 again?  
9 hours ago

  
  


*

The idea comes to him as he’s staring forlornly at the charred rice in his frying pan. Another failed attempt at kimchi fried rice, he thinks with a sigh, going to toss the entire mess into the trash. He dumps the pan into his sink with a clatter, then goes to see what kind of instant ramen he has stashed in his pantry. 

Then he thinks of the last post Changmin had made on SNS, just a couple of days ago, and halts in the middle of opening a pack of ramen. 

It’s not weird, or creepy, he reasons to himself. It had just been an excellent shot, that’s all. That bowl of pho just looked really, _really_ good. Who could blame him for wanting a bowl for himself?

So if he does a quick search on his phone for the nearest Vietnamese restaurant—well. No one’s around to judge.

*

Heechul-hyung is around to judge.

“I lost rock-paper-scissors to Boa,” he announces with a heavy sigh, “and so I am here to stage an intervention.”

Yunho blinks at the sight of him in his living room, where he’s somehow taped several red balloons to the wall to spell out the word INTERVENTION.

Heechul-hyung follows his gaze. “Do you like them? I got red, just for you.”

Yunho rolls his eyes. “Yes, I love them. Please take them down before you leave.”

He tries not to notice the way Heechul-hyung’s eyes follow him as he kicks off his shoes in the entryway and tosses his keys in a bowl on the kitchen counter. Changmin had gotten him that bowl, once, in a fit of utter pique. It’s ceramic-white and says, succinctly, SHIT I CAN’T FORGET. 

Next he deposits two take-out containers next to the bowl and begins to unpack them both. Immediately, the fragrant scent of jasmine rice and chicken curry envelop the room, and his stomach grumbles. He glances up. “Do you want some, Hyung? There’s plenty.”

“Sure,” Heechul-hyung says easily, ambling over to take a seat at his dining table. He says nothing as Yunho gets out a couple of bowls and spoons from his cabinets and begins ladling out two equal portions of curry and rice.

Heechul-hyung waits until Yunho’s taken a couple of mouthfuls before saying, “Changminnie had curry a couple of months ago in India, didn’t he?”

Yunho has spent decades in the limelight doing partially unscripted fan meetings and concert ments, not to mention the numerous variety show appearances with Hodong-hyung, and so he is perfectly capable of swallowing his food and replying with a blithe, “I think so, yeah. His pictures look good, don’t they?”

“Very good,” Heechul-hyung agrees with a smile. “So good that I guess they’ve made you want to eat every single thing he’s posted since he started this little sabbatical of his? And don’t think I haven’t noticed the reappearance of a certain piece of jewelry.”

Yunho glances at the Hermès bracelet he’s somehow started wearing daily on his wrist, but says nothing.

Heechul-hyung sighs. “Look, I like Changminnie. He’s a good guy.”

“He is,” Yunho says, wary.

“But I’ve always liked you more,” Heechul-hyung continues, and Yunho furrows his brow.

“I—I know that?” Yunho says. “He knows that too.”

“Good,” Heechul-hyung says, still smiling, “because the fact that he’s reduced you to this pining mess of a man who’s stalking him on SNS and trying to eat the same goddamn meals he’s been eating for the last five months really makes me want to punch him in the face.”

Yunho blinks at him, startled. Changmin would probably win that fight since he’s obviously got an advantage in terms of height and build—but then again, Heechul-hyung’s always fought dirty. 

“Of course I would fight dirty,” Heechul-hyung says, affronted, and oh, Yunho had said that out loud. “I’m insulted you would think otherwise.”

Yunho forces a laugh. “Hyung, I’m—I’m fine. So—so I want to eat different food. Broaden my palate. What’s wrong with that?”

Heechul-hyung brandishes a spoon at him. “On its own, nothing. But substituting food for company and affection is an unhealthy coping mechanism and I won’t have you doing that on my watch.” He pauses. “Also, I’m pretty sure your tree is dying.”

“I—what?” Yunho turns to stare at his tree, which has shed an impressive amount of leaves on the floor overnight and looks even more weepy as a result. “No, it’s not, it’s just stressed because it’s still adjusting to its new home and I’m going to fix it.” Yunho shakes himself to clear his head. “And what did you just say? ‘Substituting food for company and affection?’” Yunho sets down his spoon. “Where the hell—”

“Boa,” Heechul-hyung says, simply. “I’m also to tell you to—hang on—” Yunho can only watch dazedly as he rolls up the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow and cranes his neck at an impossibly awkward angle to read the words scrawled on his forearm. “—Jesus, Boa, can you write any tinier? Oh, okay, here— ‘For the love of all that is good and holy this has been the slowest fucking burn in the history of the world please Yundol grow a pair and call him.’” Heechul-hyung grins, beatific. “Yeah. What she said.”

“I’m fine,” Yunho says, automatically, and tries not to flinch at the way Heechul-hyung’s eyes narrow. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Heechul-hyung says doubtfully, but he resumes eating. After a beat, Yunho does, too.

“You’re not fine, though,” Heechul-hyung continues, and Yunho frowns at him. “You’re acting like you’ve gone through the worst break-up in the world. Granted, everyone thinks their break-up is the worst break-up in the world, but at some point, you have to move on.”

“I am moving on,” Yunho insists, stubborn. “Hyung, Dong Bang Shin Ki was such a huge part of my life, so I’m _sorry_ if it’s taking me some time to adjust to not having that anymore, but I’m doing my best.”

“That,” Heechul-hyung begins, delicately, “is not the relationship I was referring to.”

Yunho keeps his eyes fixed on his food.

“But you knew that,” Heechul-hyung says.

“Hyung,” Yunho says, pleading. 

“No,” Heechul-hyung says, eyes hard, “you need to hear this from someone who won’t coddle you, and apparently I’m the only one brave enough to do the job. So, here goes. That boy has been in love with you since he was probably sixteen. You were a little slow to catch up, but eventually you did, so congratulations! You’re into him. He’s into you. I don’t believe in soulmates, but you two are the damn closest thing I’ve ever seen. That’s what most people search for, for their entire lives. Some people _die_ never finding it. So _what,_ ” he says, scowling at him, “is the _fucking_ problem?”

Silence.

“Me,” Yunho says, heartbeat thudding in his ears. He offers up a small, self-deprecating shrug. “It’s me. I’m—I’m the fucking problem.”

*

_Love and war—I said it just to get a laugh (you really do have the most obnoxious laugh, I hope you know), but it’s the truth._

_Sometimes I still think about the time you told me to quit now, if I was just going to quit later on anyway. You can be a real fucking asshole sometimes, you know? People put you up on this pedestal and think you’re so nice. They’re all wrong. Maybe I’ll bring up more stories in the next interview. God knows I’ve got a thousand of them._

_Something I never told you: I probably would have quit, back then. Before they stuck us together in a group and debuted us that December. I wasn’t all that interested, you know? Of course you did. That’s why you said what you did in the first place. But you know I’ve always been a little shit, and when you said what you did, I was determined to prove you wrong. You lit a fire under me. Isn’t that something? U-Know Yunho, Passion Mansour. Inspiring the dumbass kid who was dragged to the auditions by his mother because she wanted to meet BoA. You looked at me like I was silly and unimportant and I wanted nothing more than to stand on stage with you one day and force you to look me in the eye and acknowledge me as an equal._

_And now it’s just the two of us. Funny how life works, isn’t it. Would you have said what you did if you’d known we’d be the last two standing? Would it have changed anything at all?_

*

  
_Beep._

Yunho lies on the couch, staring up at his ceiling, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t say anything for a good ten seconds, just breathes in and out, in and out.

“So I started doing something stupid,” he says. His voice is awkwardly loud in the otherwise silent room, but that doesn’t stop him. “I, um. Started backtracking through your SNS posts and eating all the same stuff you’ve been eating while you’ve been away.”

He laughs suddenly. “God. Now that I hear myself saying the words, it’s really pathetic, huh? No wonder Heechul-hyung and Boa wanted to stage an intervention. They did, you know, Heechul-hyung came over and put up red balloons and everything. Oh—he also kind of wants to punch you in the face. Fair warning.”

He reaches up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s really—it’s just so damn _stupid,_ ” he says, swallowing, “I mean, all of this is. You, and me. Maybe more me than you, but I think we both have to claim responsibility on this one, right? Did you write those letters knowing you’d give them to me someday? Was that part of your plan? What did you want to get out of it? Did you want me to feel like an idiot? Because if that was your game, then congratulations, Changdol, because you won with flying colors.” 

He swings his legs over the side of the couch, the sudden motion making him feel lightheaded. “Changmin-ah, let’s talk. Really talk. When you get back. Okay? Call me when you get back. Please.”

*

**yunho2154**  


_[A photo of a potted plant: his weeping fig, wilting and drooping, fallen leaves scattered all over the floor]_

  
  


**28,903 likes**  
**yunho2154** I think my plant is dying please help??  
View all 314 comments  
5 hours ago

*

He meets up with Donghae for dinner at one of their usual spots, a pojangmacha they’ve been going to for years. As they’re waiting for their food to be delivered, he catches Donghae surreptitiously scrolling through his phone beneath the table.

“Did you just come out here with me to play on your phone all night?” Yunho asks, half-teasing. 

Donghae clears his throat and offers him a small grin. “No-o,” he says, “I was just, uh, checking something.”

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “Is this some top secret Suju thing?”

“Nah,” Donghae answers, shaking his head. “Just a Heechul-hyung thing.”

“A Heechul—” Yunho narrows his eyes. “Were you checking Changminnie’s SNS?”

Donghae’s eyes dart nervously from his phone, to the table, to Yunho’s face and back. “Um, I don’t know how you want me to answer that question.”

Yunho huffs out a noise of disbelief just as the stall’s ahjumma bustles over, depositing bowls of udon and plates of soondae in front of them. They thank her politely before he pins Donghae with a furious glare.

Donghae, in response, holds up two hands placatingly. “I was just checking!” he protests. “I didn’t think he’d posted any Korean food, but Heechul-hyung kind of got me in on it, and I didn’t even realize it had been like nine months already—”

“It's only been six,” Yunho says, savagely chewing at a piece of soondae, “and I’m thrilled to know my issues are so amusing for you.”

Donghae pauses. “Sorry,” he offers.

Yunho heaves a sigh. “S’fine,” he says.

Donghae slurps at his soup before saying, nonchalantly, “Heechul-hyung said you’d say that a lot, too.”

Yunho throws his hands up. “What is this, let’s-all-gang-up-on-Yunho-day?”

“No,” Donghae corrects, “it’s let’s-make-sure-Yunho-is-okay-day-and-even-if-he’s-not-stay-with-him-and-help-him-through-it-day.”

“Your titles are shit,” Yunho tells him, and Donghae beams at him.

A couple of bottles of soju in and Yunho’s all flushed and lightheaded. Donghae’s only slightly better, but Yunho can’t help but think of Changmin and his ridiculous alcohol tolerance, and the way he’d always make sure Yunho got home safely, though never without an offhand comment regarding his not-so-stellar drinking capacity.

“Changminnie’s a much better drinker than me,” Yunho says, forlornly.

“Oh—” Donghae squints at him. “No. Nonono. Are you going to be a sad drunk today.”

Yunho sighs and slumps down in his seat. “M’always sad now,” he says.

“Oh,” Donghae says again, frowning. “This is very sad.” He pauses, and then points at Yunho with one hand and brandishes his phone with another. “I know! I’ll call for backup.”

“Backup?” Yunho echoes, and then frowns. “Are you calling Hyukjae? Is he your backup?”

“Nope,” Donghae says, peering at his phone. “Kyu! Hi, Kyu!”

Kyuhyun says something, but it’s too muffled for Yunho to make out. Donghae turns up the volume and flips the phone around. Kyuhyun’s face is a little fuzzy on the screen, but Yunho waves anyway.

“Yunho-hyung, Donghae-hyung,” Kyuhyun says, sounding bemused. “You both look—drunk.”

“We are,” Donghae says proudly, and then frowns. He’s still staring at the back of his phone, having held it up to Yunho to see. “But Yunho-hyung is being a sad drunk.”

On the phone, Kyuhyun blinks. “I, uh—”

“So,” Donghae continues, still talking to the back of his phone, and Yunho would reach up and flip it over but his limbs aren’t quite cooperating right now, “you should come here and be our new Changmin!”

There is a terrible, terrible pause.

“That is the worst thing I have ever heard,” Kyuhyun says.

“Right,” Yunho agrees, “and also it would be really inaccurate? Kyu looks nothing like Changminnie.”

“Right, right,” Kyuhyun says, nodding emphatically. 

Across the table, Donghae sags dejectedly. “I guess,” he says, but Yunho’s not done.

“I mean, Changminnie is, you know,” he trails off, raising his arm in an entirely inaccurate approximation of Changmin’s height. “Like. He’s a lot taller.”

“Ohh,” Donghae sighs. “I forgot about that.”

“What,” Kyuhyun cuts in, offended. “He’s not _that_ much taller—”

“And, also,” Yunho says, gesturing vaguely at his abdomen. “You know. This.”

“Ohh,” Donghae sighs again. “Right. Changminnie’s still ripped as hell. And Kyuhyunnie is definitely not. Not even a little bit. Like. The exact opposite.”

“I hate you both,” Kyuhyun says.

“But their personalities are really similar,” Yunho concedes, and Donghae flashes him a thumb up.

“I know,” he says, “that’s what I was really thinking about.”

Kyuhyun squawks. “Excuse you!” he shouts. “He is the most emotionally constipated person I know while I am a _fucking delight—_ ”

“Sorry, Kyu,” Donghae says, finally rotating his phone back. “Looks like you’re not as good as Changmin after all.”

Kyuhyun makes a noise of sheer outrage right as Donghae ends the call. Yunho sighs, slumping forward and resting his cheek against the plastic table. It’s sticky with spilled food and soju and not at all sanitary. Changmin would probably have a lot to say about exactly how unsanitary it all is, and the thought makes him heave yet another sigh.

“Do you want another drink?” Donghae asks, sympathetic.

“Please,” Yunho says into the table.

*

**changmin88**  
Japan

_[A photo of a bowl of tonkotsu ramen]_

  
  


**20,628 likes**  
**changmin88** Tadaima!  
View all 7,809 comments  
**gyuram88** Oh thank god. Does this mean you're finally coming back?  
9 hours ago

*

The truth is:

The year before they’d disbanded, they’d taken a flight home from Tokyo to Seoul. One of many. Nothing special. And without a word, they’d decided that they’d go to Changmin’s place for the night. Changmin had been on edge the entire time, shoulders rigid with tension as he’d cooked fried rice in the kitchen from whatever leftover ingredients he’d had on hand. He’d refused all of Yunho’s attempts at help, and so Yunho had been stuck sitting at the counter, watching him move about the kitchen with an easy grace that he’d personally never been granted, no matter how hard he practiced at cooking.

Changmin had served them two equal portions and had sat down across the table from Yunho to eat dinner. They’d put Music Bank on as background noise, the bubblegum pop sounds of the latest girl group at odds with the strange awkwardness in the room. Throughout the meal, Changmin hadn’t said a single word.

“S’good, Changmin-ah,” he’d said. “Thanks—uh, thanks for having me over.”

Then he’d offered to do the dishes since Changmin had cooked, and all. It had seemed only fair.

So he’d stood at Changmin’s ridiculously fancy kitchen sink, next to his ridiculously fancy dishwasher, but insisting on doing the dishes by hand because he still liked it better that way. He’d lathered up their bowls and spoons and the large frying pan with soap, scrubbing at residual crumbs with a sponge. 

There had been a particularly stubborn spot on the frying pan, and he’d been putting all of his back into that one spot, brow furrowed with the sheer effort of it, and then Changmin had—Changmin had—

Had slipped behind him and rested his forehead in between Yunho’s shoulder blades.

Yunho had stiffened beneath the sudden weight, dropping the frying pan in the sink, wincing at the loud clatter it had made. “Changmin-ah,” he’d murmured, and stopped.

“Hyung,” Changmin had murmured back. “Hyung, I’m tired.”

Yunho had frozen. “Tired of—of what?”

And Changmin had paused and Yunho had yearned to turn around and grab him and force him to look him in the eye. But he hadn’t, had stayed rooted to the spot, Changmin’s head a warm weight against his back.

“Of waiting,” Changmin had admitted, and Yunho had whirled around.

But Changmin had already pulled away, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry,” he’d muttered. “You can let yourself out when you’re done. Or stay, you know that room’s always open for you—”

The truth is:

Watching Changmin walk away from him that day, Yunho had known that it was the beginning of the end of something. Not quite Dong Bang Shin Ki, but _something._ And if he were a stronger man, a better man, he would’ve done something to stop it.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it. For all of his passion, all of his strength and bravery—he’s never known what to do with Changmin. Had always assumed Changmin would always be there to figure things out for him. 

Stupid, really. Then again, Yunho’s always been stupid for Changmin.

*

_I was watching some in-flight entertainment on the flight back to Seoul yesterday. You were fast asleep with your mouth wide open as usual. I want you to know that I just barely managed to stop the kid sitting behind you from stuffing your mouth with M &Ms. _

_Thinking back, I don’t know why I chose to watch that show. I’d never even seen it before, just heard about it online. It’s older, too, it’s got to be at least ten years old. It was an American show, but all stories are pretty similar when you get down to it. There’s always a guy and there’s always a girl. And there are always circumstances that keep them apart, and they spend a dozen episodes going through ups and downs. But in the end, they always end up together and they ride off into the sunset for their happily ever after._

_I’m sure that’s what ended happening to this couple too, though not in the episode that I watched. The episode I watched must have been one of their downs. But the lead actress, or I assume she’s the lead, said something that really got to me:_

_“If you have chemistry you only need one other thing: timing. But timing’s a bitch.”_

_Truer words, and all that._

_I meant what I said last night. I know I ran away. I have no excuses. I was always the cowardly one, and you, U-Know Yunho, were always the brave one. But I did mean what I said. I am tired. I’m fucking exhausted, Yunho-hyung, and I don’t think I can keep waiting anymore. I won’t apologize because I have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve given you everything. I’ve given you more than half of my life. And you know what? I’m terrified that if I give you any more, I won’t have anything left._

_What else do you want from me?_

*

The thing is, there had been girls, and a few boys, and they’d never kept any of it a secret from each other, and that was fine, it _was,_ because they’d never made any promises to each other, and yet. And yet.

And yet Yunho had given Changmin that bracelet, and he’d known what people would think, and he knows Changmin had, too—and he’d worn it anyway.

So this is what Yunho clings to, as he scrolls through SNS on his phone and finds a blurry picture posted on a fan account of Changmin in the streets of Osaka, a familiar bracelet on his wrist. He stares at it, unblinking, and—breathes.

*

Yunho’s phone buzzes in his pocket with a series of text message notifications. Glancing away from where he’d been watching a group of trainees practice a round of intense choreography, he unlocks his phone.

  
**Heechul-hyung**  


  
He’s coming home, flight is tomorrow PM  
Info came from Kyu so I assume it’s good  
You’re welcome

Yunho inhales through his nose, then exhales through his mouth, repeating the cycle until the ringing sound in his ears ceases. He slips his phone back into his pocket without replying.

His concentration only lasts him so long, and he ends up letting the trainees out half-an-hour early. He doesn’t miss the raised eyebrows and poorly disguised murmurs of concern. He waves them off, citing a bad headache (not entirely a lie), and bids them a good evening.

When he gets home, he pulls out an old spiral notebook and an old pen with the TVXQ! logo emblazoned on it. He sinks into his chair and begins to write.

*

When he finishes, Yunho drives to Changmin’s apartment and slides an envelope beneath the door.

* 

It’s ten-thirty in the evening and Yunho’s idly watching some home-shopping program on television when his doorbell rings.

With a frown, he pads over to the intercom mounted on his wall and peers at the screen. His eyes widen.

“Changmin-ah,” he croaks.

“Hyung,” Changmin says, impatience crackling through his voice. “Let me in.”

“Yeah, I—” Yunho fumbles to do so. “Come on up.”

The five minutes it takes for Changmin to arrive feel like five hours. Changmin’s barely knocked on the door when Yunho throws it open, and then ends up simply standing there, right in the doorway, taking in every last detail: Changmin’s rumpled hair, the day-old stubble lining his jaw, the bags beneath his eyes. He looks exhausted and terribly, beautifully human.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he blurts out, and clamps his mouth shut.

Changmin’s eyes flash with— _something,_ and he shoves past Yunho to kick off his shoes and pace the living room floor. Dazed, Yunho shuts the door behind him and trails after him, unwilling to let him out of his sight again.

“Changmin-ah.” 

Changmin turns and his nostrils flare. His shoulders are tensed, jaw clenched. “Yunho-hyung,” he grits out, and god but Yunho’s missed it, this, all of it, “what the _fuck_ is this?”

He thrusts out a familiar envelope, but Yunho’s gaze bypasses that to land on the bracelet encircling his wrist. Changmin catches it, flushes, and shoves the envelope further in Yunho’s face.

“You just write me a letter? After—after everything? And shove it under my door?” Changmin’s rambling now. “What is this? Some BBC period drama?”

Yunho furrows his brow. “I don’t really understand,” he says, slowly, “but I just. God, I just, I wanted to write you back. Okay? You wrote me all those letters and they were like little bits of your soul in each one and I just wanted to. Try. Try to meet you on the same place for once, I guess. Since we kept missing each other.” He falls back onto his couch, suddenly exhausted. He rubs his palms over his face. “Forget it. It was stupid. The letter was probably stupid too, right? No wonder you’re mad.”

He hears Changmin heave a loud sigh before he settles down next to him. “I’m not mad,” he says, quiet. “Not really.”

Yunho doesn’t move. Somehow, it’s easier to do this when they’re not looking at each other. “You seem pretty mad,” he points out.

“Frustrated is probably a better word,” Changmin says.

Yunho exhales, loudly, and lowers his hands. “Why did you do it?” he asks, staring straight ahead at his TV. On screen, they’re selling vacuum cleaners. “Write the letters? Leave them for me to find?”

“I told you,” Changmin says ruefully, “you were always the braver one—”

“Stop that,” Yunho says irritably, but Changmin cuts him off.

“Let me finish,” he snaps, “I don’t know, okay? At first, it was just cathartic. Half those letters I wrote when I was drunk. I don’t know why I kept them. On some level, I guess I wanted you to know. And on that last day, in Japan, I just didn’t care anymore. I wasn’t brave enough to tell you face to face, but I still wanted you to know, somehow. So I left them. I didn’t know if you’d actually get them. I told Manager-san to wait until I’d been gone for a few months. I think part of me hoped that he would forget about them completely. Or maybe lose them, somehow.” He chokes out a bitter laugh. “Stupid, in hindsight. They had your name on them and everything. Anybody could’ve gone to the press.”

Yunho licks his lips. They’re dry and cracked. “I’m glad I got them,” he says.

Changmin is quiet. Then, “So am I.” 

They don’t say anything after that, and Yunho half-listens to the home shopping host extol the virtues of the latest version of a particular vacuum cleaner. It’s purple, he notes distantly. Changmin likes purple.

Finally, Changmin says, in a great big rush, “I got your voicemails.”

“Oh.” Yunho catches himself flushing, now, of all things, suddenly remembering all the things he’d confessed. Easier to do when it was just a machine on the other end of the line. “You, uh. Never picked up. The first one—that one rang, for a bit, and then went to voicemail. After that, it always went straight, without ringing.” He picks at a stray thread on his couch. “Figured the first one made you mad. And that you were ignoring me.”

“I was,” Changmin admits, and oh, that stings. Yunho doesn’t say anything in reply, but that seems to be the right thing to do, as Changmin continues to speak. “I was—I was mad. Not at you. Not _just_ at you,” he amends. “At myself. At a lot of things. And I needed to just get away for a bit, and I didn’t want to be reminded of you when I was supposed to be, I don’t know, finding myself.”

Yunho digests that. “That’s fair,” he says. “And, uh, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Find yourself,” Yunho clarifies.

Changmin looks at him for a long time, eyes large and dark, and as intense as ever. “Now I have,” he says, hushed.

“Oh,” Yunho says, squirming under his scrutiny, and they both go quiet again.

At length, Yunho says, “You read my letter.” He darts a look at him, but Changmin’s face is unreadable. 

Beside him, Changmin sighs. “I did.”

Yunho starts worrying at his bottom lip, biting at the chapped skin he finds there. “And?”

Changmin sighs again, soft and tired, and Yunho thinks, numbly, oh, this is it, he’s going to walk away now, it was too late after all—

Large, warm hands cup his jaw and Changmin’s eyes bore into his, gently scolding. His thumb pries Yunho’s lips apart.

“Stop that,” Changmin admonishes him. “Look—your lip is bleeding.”

Yunho stops.

“Changdol-ah,” he whispers, broken, and Changmin’s eyes darken before leaning in. Yunho’s eyes flutter shut as Changmin kisses him, and Yunho reaches up to thread his fingers through his hair—it’s so much longer, now—as they trade quiet breaths in the middle of Yunho’s old couch, his TV still playing in the background. Yunho melts into him, and he makes a quiet, desperate noise into Changmin’s mouth. Changmin pulls him in closer, tighter. After a few seconds, they draw apart, but Yunho rests a hand on the back of Changmin’s neck, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “Changdol-ah,” he says again, hushed and reverent. “What—what now?”

Changmin lets out a soft breath of laughter, eyes going ever-so-slightly mismatched. “It’s still you, Hyung,” he says. “It will always—always be you.”

*

_I’m not good at words the way you are, Changmin-ah, but I’ll try. For you, I’ll try anything._

_In one of your letters, you said that you were a coward. That’s a lie and you know it. You’re not a coward. You’re braver than I ever was. If I were braver, I would have told you the truth. Or, no, that’s not really what you needed, right? You knew, so you didn’t need the truth. You needed me to do something about it._

_So here’s the truth, Changdol-ah. I’ve loved you since I was probably twenty years old, before I knew any better. I probably didn’t know what that meant back then. But I knew what it meant after they left and it was just the two of us. After you stayed._

_Dong Bang Shin Ki was… is... it’s everything. It was something I slept on the streets for. Something I told myself I would give up everything for. My youth, my blood, my bones. And… yes. Even you._

_Changmin-ah, I think that was a mistake._

_Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. You did too, even though you complained half the time we were on the variety circuit or on tour. I loved that stage. I love that stage. But you. Losing you, that wasn’t part of the plan._

_I should never have gambled on you._

_Bottom line is, I miss you and I don’t want to lose you. If I’m too late, then, that’s fine. I understand. You told me you were tired of waiting and it would be stupid of me to expect anything else. But you’re it for me too, Changmin-ah. I’m going to borrow some of your words so I hope you don’t mind. Now that the red oceans have faded and we’ve stopped selling out dome tours—_

_It’s still you. It was always you._

*

“Hyung,” Changmin says a little bit later, sounding supremely judgmental. “Your tree is absolutely dying.”

“Shh,” Yunho says, half-asleep, raising a finger and aiming it in the direction of Changmin’s lips. Judging from the squawking noises that ensue, he misses. “It’s not dead. Only half. You don’t have to worry about it. It’ll get better on its own. That’s what the fans said on SNS. Okay?”

“That’s probably why it’s half-dead,” Changmin mutters.

*

If it were anybody else, there might have been a period of awkwardness. As it is, nothing really changes. Falling back together is as easy and simple as slipping into his favorite pair of pajamas, buttoning himself up into something warm and lovely and familiar.

On a Monday evening, Yunho’s dozing off on Changmin’s couch (it’s not quite as comfortable as his own, but it’ll do) when his phone rings on the coffee table.

Flopping over onto his stomach, he grasps blindly for the offending object with his eyes still tightly shut. Blearily, he accepts the call and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hello,” he mutters.

“You!” Jihye shrieks over the phone. “You—you talk to your niece!”

Yunho blinks, forcing himself awake. He glances at the clock on the wall. Four-fifteen. 

“I—what? Why? What happened?” Yunho sits up, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Changmin emerges from the bathroom, wearing dark green pajama bottoms and an old tour t-shirt, toweling his hair dry. He’s been back for almost a month, now, and Yunho forces himself to be only mildly distracted by the sight of him. And then he doesn’t have to force it at all when Jihye’s words finally register.

“Eunchae did _what?_ ” he exclaims, and even Changmin pauses on his way to the kitchen, throwing Yunho a startled look. 

Yunho hits the speaker button and turns the volume up as Jihye launches into a lengthy tirade.

Apparently Jihye had received a phone call from Eunchae’s homeroom teacher for _fighting_ , of all things; when a startled Yunho asks what the fight had been about Jihye huffs out that she’d been defending her precious samchon’s honor, shouting that her samchon wasn’t an old flop and you take that back Kim Min Young, U-Know Yunho is a fucking _legend_ before rearing back to execute what would have been a perfect roundhouse kick had a passing teacher not intervened. 

Yunho blinks.

“You taught her that roundhouse kick,” Jihye accuses.

“I also taught _you_ that roundhouse kick,” Yunho protests, and Changmin chokes out a laugh before escaping to the depths of the kitchen.

_Coward,_ Yunho mouths at his back.

“I mean, I’m not mad that she defended you,” Jihye is saying after Yunho’s stuck his tongue out at his questionably better half, “but she can’t go around roundhouse-kicking every single moron who has a wrong opinion—”

“She’s not a moron just because she called me an old flop,” Yunho says mildly, and Jihye goes quiet.

“Oppa,” she says, “do I have to go over there and roundhouse kick you too?”

“I can’t possibly think of where Eunchae might have gotten her conflict resolution skills from,” Yunho says, and Jihye makes a disgruntled noise on the other line.

“I can’t believe she got detention for defending your _honor_ ,” she bemoans. “What is she, Changmin?”

Yunho barks out a laugh, and Changmin sticks his head out of the kitchen. “I heard that!” he yells.

“I wanted you to!” Jihye retorts. “Besides, our mother wants to know when you’re going to make an honest man out of Yunho-oppa and turn those engagement bracelets into engagement rings—”

“Oh my god,” Yunho says, trading equally mortified looks with Changmin across the room. “I’m hanging up on you now, and also, if anything, _I_ gave him the bracelets so _I_ should be making an honest man out of _him_ —”

“I don’t care who does it, but somebody needs to _man up_ —” are the last words Jihye manages to get out before Yunho finally ends the call.

“Sorry,” Yunho offers, but Changmin shakes his head.

“She’s right, anyway,” he says, sitting down next to him with two mugs of coffee. He hands one to Yunho, who takes a small sip. 

“Right about what?”

“About making an honest man out of you,” Changmin says easily, and Yunho balks at him.

“Changmin-ah,” he says, carefully placing his mug on the coffee table. “Please don’t say things like that while I’m holding a very hot drink.”

“Sorry,” Changmin says, unrepentant. He sips at his own mug, and then sighs. “I don’t mean right this second, obviously. But—well. Someday. Legalities and everything aside. Don’t you think?”

Yunho looks at him. Looks at the hint of grey at his temples, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the broad shoulders, the slim, long legs, the muscled arms, the rough but warm hands, and the old, old bracelet on his wrist.

“I never thought you’d still be wearing it after all these years,” he says, quiet.

“You got it for me,” Changmin says simply. “Why wouldn’t I wear it?”

“I started wearing mine more after you left,” Yunho says. “Heechul-hyung kind of gave me hell for it.”

“Shocking,” Changmin says dryly.

Yunho hums, taking Changmin’s hand in his—because he’s allowed to do so now, and god but if that isn’t the best thing ever—and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. Changmin’s always taken care of his things, so the bracelet still looks nearly new, sturdy and solid on his wrist.

“I just,” Yunho says, tracing the chain links with a finger. “I just. Just wanted you to have it. I wasn’t really, I don’t know, thinking of anything specific.” Just that he wanted Changmin to wear something nice, and expensive, something that no one would else would possibly buy for him, and bask in that knowledge. It was supposed to have been private, but, well.

“So it wasn’t supposed to be an engagement bracelet after all?” Changmin says, teasing, and Yunho lets out a soft laugh.

“Okay, so maybe it was part of my big diabolical plan,” Yunho says, leaning in.

“To have the longest engagement ever?” Changmin retorts, raising his eyebrows. He frowns. “Kyu’s going to have a field day with this.”

“Kyu—” Yunho blinks, hazy memories of a night out with Donghae coming to mind. “Huh. For some reason, I feel like I owe him an apology.”

Changmin snorts. “What, for pointing out his lack of a six-pack? He told me about that. I’ve said far worse to him. He’ll get over it.”

Yunho bites his lip. “I should call him,” he says, and Changmin makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat.

“I am trying,” he enunciates, “as your sister so aptly put it, to 'make an honest man out of you,’ and you want to call my best friend?”

Yunho blinks innocently at him. “Well, I’ve got to make a good impression on the best friend—”

“ _Yah—Hyung—_ ” Changmin glares and Yunho takes pity on him and takes his hand in his, their matching bracelets clinking together. It’s awful and cheesy and Heechul-hyung and Kyu would probably both be making gagging noises and Boa would be recording the whole thing for posterity, but he wouldn’t change a thing.

“Changdol-ah,” he murmurs, snuggling into Changmin’s side. “Seriously. Just tell me the time and place and I’ll be there.”

Changmin stiffens and goes quiet. “Well, then,” he says, and his voice does an odd thing. Yunho tilts his head to see him better. Takes in the rosy flush of his cheeks and the way he’s struggling to contain a smile.

_I did that,_ he thinks, pleased, _I put that dumb look on his face._

“Good,” Changmin says, not quite successful in fighting back in a smile. “That’s—good.”

“I’m an easy guy to talk to,” Yunho agrees. “Not like you. You’d probably spend days making a giant pros and cons list.”

Changmin is silent.

“You did, didn’t you?” Yunho crows, giddy. “Where is it? Show me the pros and cons list, Changdol-ah. Pro number one: Yunho-hyung is amazing and wonderful and handsome and it would be a privilege to spend the rest of my life with him—”

“Con number one: Yunho-hyung is really fucking annoying—” Changmin intones, and Yunho bursts into laughter, delighted and warm, and, just, _happy_.

“You’re telling our parents, though,” Yunho says.

“And you can tell all of SM,” Changmin responds, and Yunho balks.

“Can we maybe rethink this—” he starts, but Changmin’s gotten that gleam in his eyes and before he knows it Yunho’s being kissed _just right_ , Changmin’s solid weight pinning him to the couch cushions.

Yunho sighs into his mouth and pulls him closer.

*

Retirement, so to speak, isn’t so terrible.

“That’s a completely different tune you’re singing there,” Boa says with a knowing smirk. They’re sitting in her office during a quiet lull in the work day. “You were a sad lump of feelings up until, oh, a month ago? What could have possibly happened then?”

“No idea,” Yunho sniffs, resting his arm on her glass table. Boa rolls her eyes at him, though it’s a halfhearted thing. Yunho glances at the clock on her wall—he’s got twenty minutes left before he needs to oversee a practice session with SM’s next boy group, due to debut in a little over a month and their dancing still isn’t quite up to par. He thinks he might actually resort to showing them his solo debut MV for inspiration.

“Everything squared away then?” Boa asks mildly, leaning back in her fancy plush chair. “I’m getting too old to deal with your shenanigans.”

“Aw, Boa-nim, you don’t look a day over twenty-five,” Yunho says in his Gwangju drawl. Boa lets out a peal of laughter, shrill and delighted.

“You really are much better,” she says, glancing at him approvingly. “Bambi really is good for you, isn’t he?”

And Yunho allows himself to think about the way he sleeps easier nowadays, the way Changmin texts him every morning and every night that they don’t spend together, the droll replies he gets to the silly pictures he sends him just because he can, and wonders how he could have ever imagined going without all of it his entire life.

“Ugh,” Boa says, but she’s smiling as she says it. “It’s your I-love-Changmin face. Stop it, you’ll put me off my lunch.”

“I don’t actually have an I-love-Changmin face,” Yunho says, and then pauses. “Do I?”

Boa fires at him, “Think about when Changmin came home to you,” and Yunho’s brain sort of gets stuck on those words, _home to you,_ and before he realizes it Boa’s gone and snapped a picture of him with her phone.

She snorts at him before thrusting her phone in his face.

Yunho blinks as he takes in the picture.

“Damn,” he mutters. “Okay, let’s just—let’s just delete that now—Boa-yah what are you _doing—_ ”

“Sending it to a certain someone,” Boa replies, and Yunho blanches.

“That’s not the Suju chat group, is it,” he says weakly, and Boa smirks at him.

“I’m not _that_ mean,” she says. “This should only be seen by a certain individual, I think.”

“That’s not any better!” Yunho reaches for her phone, but she darts out of reach. Almost immediately, a chime sounds from her phone. A new message. She cranes her neck back to read the phone where she’d held it up and over and behind her head—and bursts into giggles.

In Yunho’s pocket, his own phone buzzes with a new message.

Yunho-hyung, Changmin’s sent, why are you making that face in front of Boa-noona?

And then, abruptly, an incoming call.

“You should probably get that,” Boa advises. “I just told him you were thinking about him naked.”

Yunho’s face is on fire. Actual, literal fire, he’ll claim, despite the Changmin-voice in his head telling him that his face can’t actually literally be on fire. “You—Boa— _yah!"_

And as he rushes out of Boa’s office to take Changmin’s call, Boa cackling maniacally behind him, he thinks: he could get used to this.

*

Yunho arrives home to the sight of Changmin leaning over the stove, a furrow in his brow as he stirs one of Yunho’s largest cooking pots carefully and methodically. Soft, slow music emanates from his Bluetooth speakers, and Yunho toes off his shoes before joining Changmin in the kitchen.

“That smells amazing,” he says honestly, and Changmin offers him a half-smile. 

“Dakgalbi,” he says, though Yunho’s put two and two together by now. He leans over Changmin’s shoulder and remembers the last time he’d attempted to cook. It hadn’t gone _terribly_ , but it hadn’t been an overwhelming success, either.

“How was your shift at the restaurant?” Yunho asks. Changmin’s started pulling half-shifts at Choi Hyunseok Chef-nim’s restaurant lately, sometimes for lunch, sometimes for dinner, trying to see if this was an avenue he was going to pursue. During his time off, sometimes he pens lyrics, though he hasn’t shown them to anyone at SM yet. Yunho supports him, one-hundred percent. Sometimes he forgets Changmin was thrust into their world at the tender age of fifteen.

“Good,” Changmin says. He yawns. “Tiring,” he admits.

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, suddenly realizing that Changmin had cooked all day and was cooking again tonight, “do you feel like this is unfair? That you cook all the time? Because I can cook too, if you want—”

But Changmin’s gone and turned to him, horrified. “Why on earth would you even suggest that? We’re barely a month into this relationship and you already want to poison me?”

Yunho can’t quite process all those words at the same time. “Yah, I’m not trying to poison you.” Then he grins, wide and bright. “Also, you said we’re in a relationship.”

Changmin flushes and turns back to his cooking. “Shut up.”

Yunho leans in to press a quick kiss to the corner of Changmin’s jaw, and grins brightly as Changmin’s ears turn red in response. “So cute,” he coos, and just barely manages to dodge the wooden spoon Changmin attempts to whack him with. 

He busies himself with setting the table while waiting for Changmin to finish cooking. He ends up humming to the song playing in the background, linked from Changmin’s phone. He sits himself down in his usual seat and scrolls through his phone. Another song goes by, and then another.

He blinks. “Changmin-ah,” he says, “is it me or has your song collection become more, uh, depressing?”

Changmin emerges from the kitchen with the food, all flushed. “What,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pointedly avoids eye contact and starts ladling out servings of dakgalbi. Nonplussed, Yunho starts scooping out rice from the rice cooker. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Yunho says, “just that I feel like I’m in a drama.” He pauses. “That’s, like, the third song from Kyuhyunnie.”

It’s “Aewol-ri,” in fact, and it’s a very pretty song and Yunho’s always thought Kyuhyun’s voice was very, very lovely, but, well. It’s just a little heavy, for dinner.

“Ugh,” Changmin enunciates, stabbing at a piece of chicken angrily. “Fine. _Fine._ Kyu made me a playlist, alright? A _pining_ playlist. And yes, it’s pretty much a bunch of shitty ballads, so, yeah, his entire discography. And your solo stuff. I’ve listened to it so much I just started playing it on autopilot. Go ahead, laugh. Whatever.”

But Yunho just stares at him, mouth open, helplessly charmed. “Changdol-ah,” he says, amused. “I stalked your SNS and ate all the food you did so that I could pretend to be closer to you. I left you pining voicemails for _months._ If this is a competition for who’s more pathetic, I think I’m the clear winner here.”

“You’re not pathetic, don’t say that,” Changmin mutters. 

“Neither are you,” Yunho soothes. “Or, I guess maybe we both are?”

Changmin chews thoughtfully on a spoonful of rice. “Probably,” he admits. “You know I’ve always been a little stupid for you.”

Yunho dimples up at him. “Yeah,” he says, “I know.”

Changmin makes a face at him, but Yunho just beams. Eventually, the tips of Changmin’s ears start to turn red and he returns to staring at his bowl of food.

“This is really good,” Yunho says. “I’ve missed your food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Changmin says. “We both know you only keep me around for my cooking.”

“And your face,” Yunho says, biting into a piece of chicken thigh.

Changmin scrunches up said face into a look of displeasure. “Are you—are you _flirting_?”

“No-o,” Yunho answers, dragging out the last syllable. “If I were, I would have mentioned your six-pack.”

Changmin snorts. “Don’t objectify me,” he says, and Yunho grins at him, playing innocent. “Anyway, you do know that’s not going to last forever, right?” He pokes morosely at his abdomen with a light sigh. “It’s already starting to go.”

Yunho allows his chopsticks to drop onto the table with a dramatic clatter. “Well, then,” he says, mock-horrified, “if that’s the case, then the engagement is off—”

Changmin scowls, and Yunho reaches out to pinch his cheeks, pulling at the corners of his mouth until they resemble a vague outline of a smile. Changmin swipes at him. “ _Yah—_ ”

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, solemnly, “I promise to love and cherish you—” and Changmin’s breath hitches, a little, at that, “—even when your six-pack goes and a beer belly takes its place. Which, let’s face it, is going to happen sooner or later, looking at how much you drink—”

“Can we get a divorce before we’re even married?” Changmin wonders monotonously, leaving Yunho with no choice but to dart in and press a loud, smacking kiss to his lips. 

When he pulls back, Changmin’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth still slightly open, cheeks red all over. In the background, “Sun & Rain” is playing, and Yunho lets the sound of their voices wash over him as he smiles at the man he’s loved since he was, give or take, about twenty years old.

“Changdol-ah,” he says, one-hundred-percent serious, “I have seven beautifully written and poignant letters that tell me exactly how much you do not want to divorce me— _mmph—_ ” 

Changmin smiles at him even as he’s busy shoving a large, heaping spoonful of rice into his mouth. Yunho flails at first, but settles back against the hardback of his chair, chewing while glaring balefully at the man in front of him. 

“If you’re good, you’ll get dessert,” Changmin says, regaining his composure with alarming ease.

Yunho raises his eyebrows and swallows his rice down. “What dessert?” he asks. Changmin’s never really gotten good at baking and pastries, though he makes an attempt every now and then. Yunho always dutifully consumes the fruits of his efforts, but it seems that desserts will forever be Changmin’s Achilles’ heel.

Changmin hums. “The bedroom kind,” he says calmly, and Yunho makes a strangled noise at a pitch that he has never been able to reach in the recording studio. 

In the background, “Heaven’s Day” begins to play. 

“This is a pining song?” Yunho asks dumbly, but quickly answers his own question. “Oh—right. Pining for, like. Sex.”

Changmin promptly chokes on his rice. Yunho reaches over to pat him on the back. Changmin swipes at him with his spoon, even as he’s reaching for his phone to skip to the next track, which just so happens to be Yunho’s own “City Lights.”

Yunho lights up.

Changmin glowers. “You’re sleeping on the couch,” he threatens.

“I usually do anyway,” Yunho responds, amused. “Also, it’s my house.”

“What’s yours is mine,” Changmin retorts, and Yunho goes a little dopey at that.

“Yeah,” he says, nudging Changmin’s ankle with his foot beneath the table. “It really is.”

Changmin scowls. “Gross,” he says, but it’s a halfhearted thing. 

“C’mon, Changmin-ah,” Yunho says. “Hurry up so we can get to _dessert._ ” He waggles his eyebrows as he says it, something he’s picked up from Heechul-hyung over the years. 

Changmin rolls his eyes at him but dutifully finishes his plate before standing and dumping the dishes in the sink. Yunho sneaks up behind him and whispers in his ear: “ _Be my choux cream, yeah—_ wait Changmin-ah that is a _frying pan_ —”

*

Afterwards, Yunho says, sated and sweat-damp, “You’re very good at that.”

Changmin pauses in the act of brushing back his bangs away from his forehead. “Thank you?”

Yunho flips onto his stomach and watches Changmin’s profile in the dim light. “This is where you return the compliment,” he says cheekily.

Changmin snorts. “Okay,” he says, “Yunho-hyung, you are also very good at sex but your idea of foreplay definitely leaves much to be desired—”

Yunho flops on top of him and mashes his face into his right pectoral. “Don’t lie, you like it,” he mumbles.

“For some dumb reason, I do,” Changmin sighs, and his arm comes up to drape across Yunho’s back. Yunho yawns into Changmin’s chest, and Changmin pulls him in closer. “Sleep,” he says.

“M’kay,” Yunho murmurs. “Hey, can we put your pining playlist on? Think it would help me fall asleep.”

Changmin’s muscles stiffen beneath him. “You’re literally the worst for my blood pressure.”

Yunho kisses his chest in apology. “There’s a lot of really nice songs in there, though,” he says.

Changmin sighs, tracing obscure shapes and patterns down the line of Yunho’s spine. After a beat, he begins to sing, quietly and only for Yunho’s ears: “ _Now, together with you, I want to walk on…”_

Yunho smiles against his skin and allows the sound of Changmin’s voice to lull him into sleep.

*

Yunho wakes up to the sound of Changmin shrieking.

Sitting up and blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Yunho finds himself alone in bed. He deduces that Changmin has escaped to the living room, more than likely in an attempt to keep the noise level down, but, well. Changmin can be quite loud when he wants to be.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches his arms above his head. Outside, Changmin hasn’t stopped.

“I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD IN EVERY UNIVERSE,” Changmin is shouting, “I AM _COMING_ FOR YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU LOVE, KYU, AND NOT EVEN YOUR NEPHEWS ARE SAFE—”

Yunho has to wince at that one. He gets to his feet and goes to open the door to do damage control, but Changmin is on a roll.

“I DON’T—what—” Changmin’s voice drops to a normal level, abruptly, “no, you fucking bastard, I don’t _want_ him to see it—” A pause, then: “Because it’s fucking embarrassing, you asshole.”

Yunho halts by the door, and then tiptoes back to the bedside table and grabs his phone. As soon as the screen lights up, he sees that Kyuhyun’s posted something in the DBSJ group chat. He bites his lip, and then thinks, well. What the hell.

It’s a video clip. A thirty-second video clip, and by the time he’s finished watching it he’s gone just a little starry-eyed and his stomach has gone all warm and fluttery. He types up a response into the group chat and Changmin rushes back into the room. This leads to a terrible moment that stretches into forever where they make eye contact and Changmin’s eyes widen with horror and Yunho can do nothing but offer him a small, sheepish smile.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s really sweet?” he tries, and Changmin flings himself onto the bed and attempts to suffocate himself with a pillow. 

“It’s embarrassing,” he mutters, an echo of the words he’d said to Kyuhyun not even five minutes prior. “And it’s—I just—it’s _private_ , and he had no right, and—”

Yunho approaches the bed slowly and sits down carefully on the edge. He reaches out to press a palm to the lower dip of Changmin’s back. “You know they mean well,” he tries. It’s true, he thinks. Suju is mostly harmless.

Changmin lifts his head up briefly to glare at him. “You _liked_ it,” he accuses.

Yunho lets a laugh escape him. “Changdol-ah,” he says, letting all the fondness and affection creep into every syllable of his name. “I love you. Even when you’re being sad and dumb.”

“Ninety percent of the time it’s your fault I’m being sad and dumb,” Changmin mumbles, but doesn’t shove the pillow back on top of his head, so that’s something. “Take responsibility.”

“Isn’t that what the bracelets are for?” Yunho smiles, and Changmin flushes. “When was that, even?”

Changmin sighs. “Couple of days before I left to see the world.”

“The world being a few countries in Asia?” Yunho pokes him in the cheek. “Honestly, it’s fine. You’re fine.” He gets into bed fully, stretches out alongside him. “Good?”

Changmin groans. “I want to stay mad,” he says, scowling. “Stop making me feel better.”

Yunho hums, considering. “So, I couldn’t really tell in the clip, but, uh, were you actually _at_ Gwanghwamun, or—”

Yunho only has a split second to dodge before Changmin proceeds to attack him with the pillow.

*

the one and only DBSJ

**Kyu**   
Posts a 30-second video clip:

_Changmin, staring forlornly out the window of a café, camera panning out to show the raindrops steadily falling against the glass._  
_Kyuhyun, from behind the phone, singing:_ Today, like a fool, I am standing at that spot, getting wet in the rain. Waiting for you, who won’t come—  
_Changmin, turning to face him exasperatedly:_ Knock it off.  
_Kyuhyun:_ No shame in pining, my friend.  
_Changmin, eyes wide:_ I am NOT—  
_Kyuhyun:_ That’s a delicious strawberry cake you’ve got there—  
_Changmin, looking murderous, reaching towards the camera before the clip abruptly goes black_  


**Heenim**   
I am fucking dead 

**Kyu**   
Isn’t he cute 

**Donghae**   
Omg 

**Changmin**   
Cho fucking Kyuhyun   
You are dead to me  
I hate you so much 

Now, Changmin, be nice 

**Changmin**   
No! Go away!  
Don’t watch this!!  
Askldjf;a;;jadjf;a   
Asdfjliq4pioalkj;dl 

**Kyu**   
Huh I think I actually broke him 

*

On a regular, ordinary Friday:

7 A.M.: His alarm goes off. Changmin’s changed it to “The Chance of Love,” so a chorus of _oohs_ wakes him up every morning.

7:15 A.M.: He rolls out of bed and quietly pads over to the bathroom, trying not to wake the sleeping lump in his bed.

7:30 A.M.: Ultimately, he fails, and Changmin winds up making him breakfast in the kitchen. Typically, it’s a cup of tea or coffee accompanied by a bowl of leftover rice and soup with a clean-tasting broth that goes down warm against his throat. They share breakfast like this, with sleepy chatter and the morning news playing quietly in the background.

8:00 A.M.: He takes a quick (though sometimes, not so quick, depending on Changmin’s mood) shower and throws on the first thing he gets his hands on in his closet. Sometimes, Changmin raises his eyebrows at his choices. Today is one of those times. Yunho gamely ignores the look and presses a loud, smacking kiss to Changmin’s cheek before he leaves. Changmin still blushes, every time.

8:30 A.M.: He turns on the car and drives to SM.

9:00 A.M.: He settles into his office and sends Changmin a text:  At work! Miss you!

9:05 A.M.: Changmin responds with a droll You just saw me 30 min ago

9:06 A.M.: Yunho sends back, Still miss you!

9:10 A.M.: Boa stands in the doorway of his office, looking distinctly unimpressed, and tells him to hurry his ass down to the meeting that’s starting in five minutes, must you really do this every single day. Pasting a properly apologetic expression on his face, Yunho follows her to the large conference room.

10:00 A.M.: The meeting winds down, and he ventures off to the practice rooms. There’s always someone to watch and guide and critique, even if the boy group he’d previously been in charge of has already debuted to moderate success. Dancing has always been his first love, and even if he can’t quite execute those perfect, knife-sharp moves anymore, he still feels most at home in those rooms in front of those mirrors, with every flaw in every spin and kick laid out at his feet. Besides, the trainees love him, Yunho likes to tell Changmin with glee, even when Changmin halfheartedly threatens to tell them the infamous story of the first words Yunho had ever said to him.

(“They already know,” Yunho had said to him, giddy with delight, “and they think I’m _super hip and cool_ , that I said those words to Choikang Changmin.”

“The fact that you are using the words ‘super hip and cool’ means you’re the exact opposite,” Changmin had deadpanned.)

12:00 P.M.: He has lunch with whoever’s available, usually Boa, sometimes one of the Suju members or the EXO or NCT kids, even though they’re not really kids anymore. Halfway through, his phone usually buzzes with a text from Changmin, one time with a picture of a freakishly large fish, perfectly scaled and deboned and annotated with the smug message of Did this all by myself, ha; another time with a picture of a finished dish: spaghetti carbonara, perfectly plated. Today, though, it’s a picture of unidentifiable burnt remains in a large cooking pot accompanied by a sad-face emoji. Yunho sends back a heart-eyes emoji, and looks up from his phone to shrewd, knowing glances all around the table.

“Y’all are just jealous,” he drawls, and Heechul-hyung rolls his eyes to the heavens.

1:00 P.M.: He takes the time to check his emails and respond to them all promptly, perfunctorily: the perfect employee.

1:30 P.M.: He returns to the practice studios, this time to supervise a group of trainees ranging in age from fifteen to nineteen. He watches them, a little wistful, and sends a text to Changmin: Would be nice to be 15 again

1:32 P.M.: Changmin responds: No it wouldn’t, we were so stupid at 15

1:33 P.M.: Yunho sends: You didn’t know me at 15 but I guarantee you were an adorable 15-year-old 

1:40 P.M.: When there’s no response, he sends a screenshot of Changmin from the ‘Hug’ music video. 

1:41 P.M.: Don’t you have actual work to do, Changmin snipes, and Yunho laughs and slips his phone back into his pocket so he can actually focus on the trainees in front of him.

3:00 P.M.: Yunho sits in on a meeting regarding SM’s latest boy group’s upcoming music video. It’s different, he realizes, sitting on the other side of the table. He sends the leader of the group an encouraging smile, which is returned, albeit tiredly. Yunho remembers those days of nonstop singing and dancing and being on for the camera every single second of the day. Knows that not everybody comes out of this industry unscathed, and hopes this one will be one of the good ones. He makes a mental note to give him one of his pep talks, later. 

3:45 P.M.: Yunho pulls him aside for a pep talk.

4:10 P.M.: Boa forcefully pulls Yunho away and tells him to quit terrorizing the kids. 

4:15 P.M.: Yunho’s sitting at his desk watching a rough, unedited draft of an MV for one of their girl groups when Boa raps her knuckles on his desk. He blinks up at her, startled. She wants to know if he’s going out for drinks with the A&R team later. He pauses, then declines. Boa tilts her head at him, but then smiles. 

“Alright,” she says. “Say hi to Changminnie for me.”

4:30 P.M.: Yunho leaves, and if it’s a little earlier than his normal, nobody says anything. He waves goodbye to Boa and Kangta-hyung, and to Hyukjae and Jungsoo down the hallway. 

5:00 P.M.: He arrives home. Toes off his shoes at the door, and peeks around the corner. The house still smells clean, so Changmin hasn’t started cooking yet. Is he home? Did he go out? He pads to the living room, and—oh. There he is. Draped awkwardly over the arm of the couch, a thick paperback on his lap. Asleep. Yunho thinks, that can’t be comfortable, and he goes to shift him to a better position. Of course, Changmin startles awake, and nearly punches Yunho in the face.

“Ouch,” Yunho says, two seconds later.

“I didn’t even hit you,” Changmin says flatly.

“It’s the thought that counts,” Yunho says, nonsensically, and Changmin straightens, stretching from his perch on the couch and yawning loudly into the silence of their living room. Yunho takes in the sight of him, rumpled from his unplanned afternoon nap, hair tousled, eye boogers in the corners of both eyes, and feels inexplicably, indescribably full. He settles in next to Changmin on the couch and turns on the television.

5:30 P.M.: “I’m glad that we have this,” Yunho says quietly, in the middle of the evening news. “Do you want me to help make dinner?”

Changmin softens when he looks at Yunho—something in the lines of his mouth and eyes. Something Yunho’s seen for decades. Something he almost foolishly walked away from.

“I’m glad too,” Changmin says, reaching to tangle their fingers together. “And—no. Absolutely not.”

Yunho pouts.

5:45 P.M.: And keeps pouting. “I am immune to that face, Jung Yunho,” Changmin says, which is only partially a truth. Yunho doesn’t give up, and eventually Changmin relents. “Fine—but you can only touch what I tell you to!”

Yunho waggles his eyebrows. Changmin tries not to turn red. It’s mostly a failure.

7:30 P.M.: Dinner is served. It’s actually not too bad. Yunho is insufferable. Changmin sighs, loudly and dramatically.

9:15 P.M.: Yunho gets out of the shower and dresses himself in old, comfortable sleeping clothes. He goes to brush his teeth. He’s got a tube of toothpaste in one hand and a toothbrush in the other when Changmin walks in, clears his throat, and raises his eyebrows. Yunho rolls his eyes, but squeezes the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. Changmin smiles, pleased.

10:00 P.M.: They curl up on the couch for a movie. It’s Changmin’s pick tonight, and he selects the first Iron Man movie. Yunho falls asleep halfway through, and wakes when Changmin’s trying to carry him back to their bedroom.

“Hyung,” Changmin says, immediately registering that he’s awake, “I’m really getting too old for this.”

“Hush, Changdol-ah,” Yunho says, “and carry me to bed.”

Changmin all but dumps him onto the mattress. Yunho squawks. “Rude,” he tells him.

Changmin ignores him, climbing in and getting himself all settled on his side of the bed. He throws the blankets on top of them both. “Goodnight,” he tells Yunho firmly.

Yunho hums, rearranging himself onto his side so that he can watch the steady rise and fall of Changmin’s chest. He counts each breath—one, and two, and three, and four, and—until his eyes drift close and he falls asleep, warm and content.

*

**changmin88**  


_[A post consisting of two photos:  
  
1: A photo of a bowl of bibimguksu, clearly home-made but still delicious-looking. It’s in an ordinary little plastic container, ready to be packed for a trip. The focus is clearly on the dish, but there—in the bottom right corner of the photo, is someone’s left hand, cut off so that only the pinky is visible.  
  
2: A photo of the beach: white sand, blue waves. It’s a generic beach photo, but it’s a good one nonetheless, looking like something straight out of a postcard. And there—at a safe distance away from the waves, just a little off-center, a tall, lean figure squats on the sand, building a sandcastle.] _

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**99,473 likes**  
**changmin88** Sometimes it's nice to get away  
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9 hours ago

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**yunho2154**  


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_[A photo of a lopsided sandcastle on the beach]_

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**90,019 likes**  
**yunho2154** Such a fun time!! I love the beach!!  
View all 959 comments  
5 hours ago

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“Well, the fans have figured out that we went on a beach trip,” Changmin says, scrolling through something on his phone. Yunho glances up from where he’d been unwrapping an ice cream sandwich.

____

“Yeah?” he says. “It’s not like we were keeping it a secret, were we?”

____

“Well, no,” Changmin says with a frown. “But—I—oh, I don’t know.” Yunho goes to sit next to him and offers him a bite from his ice cream sandwich, which Changmin declines. “I guess I’m so used to hiding relationships from the public. Seems weird not to.”

____

“It’s not like we have to get approval from the company at this stage,” Yunho points out.

____

“I’d like to see them try to break us up,” Changmin says, baring his teeth at him. Yunho laughs at him, fond.

____

“Retract those claws, Shim-ssi,” he says, reaching out to tangle their fingers together. “Listen. I don’t see any point in hiding it. We’ve wasted too much time as it is.” He pauses, the sadness of the truth washing over him briefly. “But at the same time, I don’t—well, I don’t see the need to publicly announce it in the papers or anything like that.” He shrugs. “Just—it’ll come out on its own in time, you know?”

____

“When we’re Dispatch’s next New Year couple?” Changmin says dryly, and Yunho pulls a face.

____

“Well—okay, I don’t want _that,_ ” Yunho says, shaking his head at the thought of it. “I want it to be on our own terms, I guess.”

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Changmin considers that. “Someday?” he offers.

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Yunho takes a large bite of his ice cream sandwich. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Someday.”

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*

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Someday: 

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__**changmin88** _ _

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_[A one-minute video clip:_

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_Changmin, speaking to the camera:_ So today I was planning to make a chocolate cake, but Yunho-hyung decided to get involved and—no, Hyung—that’s—no—  
_The camera shifts to capture Yunho, brow furrowed as he attempts to stir something in a mixing bowl:_ What? I just mix, right?  
_Changmin:_ No, you’re supposed to _fold_ the batter.  
_Yunho, brushing him off:_ Same thing, I swear you’re just making up words.  
_Changmin, offended:_ Folding is a legitimate baking term.  
_Yunho, beaming at the camera:_ Look, I think I’m done!  
_Changmin, setting the phone down on the counter:_ Ugh, Hyung, give me the spatula.  
_Yunho, peering over Changmin’s shoulders as he properly folds the batter this time:_ Huh.  
_Changmin, smugly:_ See, it’s different from regular stirring.  
_Yunho:_ Okay, fine, let me try—  
_Changmin:_ What? No, just let me finish—  
  
_They tussle over the mixing bowl and spatula in a childish game of tug-of-war until the thankfully plastic bowl lands on the floor, unbroken, but covering both Yunho and Changmin in chocolate splatters._  
  
_Changmin glares at Yunho._  
_Yunho, looking apologetic:_ Um, Changmin-ah…  
_Changmin, flatly:_ What.  
_Yunho, smiling weakly:_ Changdol-ah, I love—  
  
_Changmin’s hand whips out to grab his phone, and the video suddenly goes black.]_

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**395,273 likes**  
**changmin88** Terrible for my blood pressure  
View all 10,782 comments  
**yunho2154** [winking face emoji]  
**gyuram88** Wow Chwang love has made you SOFT  
**kimheenim** WHO WON THE POOL WAS IT ME I THINK IT WAS ME  
**boakwon** I call best woman! [wedding ring emoji]   
**changmin88** @yunho2154 We need new friends  
1 hour ago

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**fin**

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**Author's Note:**

> 1\. title from "duet" by rachael yamagata ft. ray lamontagne  
> 2\. the quote changmin uses in his final letter ("if you have chemistry, you only need one other thing...") is from _how i met your mother_ , the ending of which still frustrates me to this day  
> 3\. chwang's pining playlist is indeed a thing and it got me through the vast majority of this fic  
> 4\. don't worry, friends, yunho's fig tree survives  
> 5\. html is a bitch
> 
> i can't believe this is finally posted. i've sat on this beast since october of last year because i couldn't quite pin down the ending. finally came up with one that i was happy with and decided to post the thing at last ~~before one or both of the boys gets married right~~
> 
> thank you for reading! ♥


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